


Fondest, Blindest, Weakest

by redwildsparkles



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Courtly Love, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Love, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Nuggalopes, Nugs, Poetry, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Wintersend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwildsparkles/pseuds/redwildsparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra fears that romance can only lead to distraction. Cullen hopes to change her mind. Their love and duty will be put to the test, but sometimes you have to char the wood before you can limn with it. Slow burn, fluff, smut. Now complete!</p><p>Chapter 11: Good news; the Inquisition reacts variously; Cassandra and Cullen come together at last.<br/>Chapter 12: Cassandra discusses the next Divine, discloses Leliana’s biggest secret; Leliana behaves unusually; Josephine issues a death threat; Cullen makes an honest woman out of Cassandra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Human Meriting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra investigates a mysterious donor; Josephine is cryptic; Cullen pines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being here! I adore Cassandra and Cullen together, and I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I’m enjoying writing it. I owe a debt to several Cassandra/Cullen fics I’ve really loved by AgapeErosPhilia, Lmj21, Raven Sinead, and probably many more. I’ve planned out twelve chapters, starting slightly before the events of DAI and ending with these two very much together, with lots of UST and lyrium withdrawal and fluffy times in between. (:
> 
> If you could spare a moment to comment, I’d love to hear from you! Thanks again, and enjoy!

“And human love needs human meriting:     

  How hast thou merited—          

Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

Dusk was falling over Haven as Cassandra knocked on the door of Josephine’s office. Once every month, she met with the ambassador to review the Inquisition’s finances. Strictly speaking, she didn’t need to – Josephine was more than capable of managing their books – but she felt it was her duty to keep up with every major aspect of their affairs. One, in particular, had been on her mind for some time.

For almost a year now, the Inquisition had been receiving contributions from an anonymous supporter – first a considerable lump sum, followed by smaller monthly contributions. Cassandra had been trying to figure out their supporter’s identity for months without any progress.

Today, she hoped she’d get some answers.

“Ah, Cassandra. Please, come in.”

“Josephine. You’re well, I trust.”

“As ever.” She flashed a smile. “Have a seat.”

Cassandra sat straight and attentive in her chair as they went over the accounts together, though inwardly she was restless. Finally, Josephine cleared her throat. “I petitioned our supporter on your behalf, as you requested at our last meeting.” In the ensuing silence, her gaze softened.

“Our supporter did not relent,” Cassandra said flatly, knowing it was true before the words were out of her mouth.

“It should hardly come as a surprise. From the start, the money was given and pledged on the condition that they be able to remain strictly anonymous.”

“Though not from you,” Cassandra shot back.

“No, not from me. Naturally I would not be able to accept a donation without first ascertaining its provenance.”

“Then I suppose Leliana knows as well.”

“Only Leliana knows what Leliana knows,” Josephine said with a smile.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “And Commander Cullen and I are to be kept in the dark, as usual?” While the four of them were of equal rank within the Inquisition, it hadn’t escaped her notice that she and Cullen were not always privy to the same level of information as the other two. _Just because we would feign no interest in courtly intrigue and ridiculous shoes,_ thought Cassandra irritably. But she knew it went deeper than that. As the spymaster’s recruit – and a younger, more impressionable woman, for all her iron resolve in dealing with the outside world – Josephine was Leliana’s special confidante. That left Cassandra and Cullen somewhat off to the side. Which usually wasn’t a problem – with the similar backgrounds of their Orders and their soldiers’ training, the two of them worked well together. In fact, the arrangement suited all four of them, yet Cassandra couldn’t help but feel that as her recruit, Cullen had the shorter end of the stick. She blamed herself for that.

She also found herself thinking of him more often than she should. _Like now,_ she chided herself.

With an effort, she pulled herself back into the conversation. “Please, Cassandra,” Josephine was saying soothingly. “Our supporter has a good heart and believes in our cause. They would not want this matter to come between us.”

She was right, of course, but it didn’t make the sting any easier to bear. “In that case, will you deliver this to them?” She laid a letter on the desk. The envelope was blank, with no address.

Josephine frowned slightly. “A personal appeal? If I may ask, why are you so curious to learn our supporter’s identity?”

Cassandra sighed. “There is a story about Andraste that she would watch the people who came forward to put money in the collection boxes for the cause. There were many rich nobles who gave great sums, but on one occasion she noticed a poor widow putting in two small copper coins. It’s recorded that Andraste said, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.’ You’ve heard the story, I’m sure. I don’t mean to bore you.”

“You needn’t fear. Your telling of it is quite touching. However, I am still unsure what you mean by it.”

“That is what I have been wondering myself. The donor is no farmer or tradesman – they would never have acquired such a large initial sum. Perhaps a merchant of some sort, or a noble – it would be an easy matter for a noble to part with that amount of money… What I am trying to say is, I wish to know exactly what this gift represents.”

After a moment’s consideration, Josephine replied, “Perhaps our supporter chooses to remain unnamed in order to forestall precisely such judgments. In any case, there are other reasons to remain hidden for a time, even from a Seeker of Truth. Reasons which may not be altogether wrong. For now, is it not enough that the gift is given?”

“No, it is not,” Cassandra said grumpily, “but I am out of other leads.”

Josephine tucked the letter into a folder of outgoing mail. “Cheer up, Cassandra. I will see to it that our supporter receives your message.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t try to intercept it somehow. You won’t succeed.”

“How fortunate that I’ve had quite enough success for one day,” Cassandra said dryly, rising to take her leave.

It wasn’t right to have made Josephine the target of her feelings – anger, frustration, and most of all, disappointment. In her mind she’d known that her simple request wouldn’t convince their supporter to come forward, but in her heart she’d still believed it was possible. _That’s what comes of foolish yearning,_ she rebuked herself, as she headed for the steps down into the village.

At least Josephine had agreed to deliver her letter. She’d spent hours composing it, believing it her last chance to make her case.

_Perhaps our mysterious supporter will write back,_ she thought.

But if she was honest with herself, even she didn’t believe that.

* * *

 

Cullen straightened when he saw Cassandra descending the steps of their headquarters, her shoulders tense and her mouth set in a thin line. The mere sight of her shouldn’t have been able to set his heart racing, not least when she was obviously infuriated about something, and Maker help whatever that was about. But it seemed that the longer he spent around her, the more he couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was.

He waved to her, hoping he didn’t have a giddy smile on his face.

“Commander,” she said crisply. “Is there something you need?”

“Only to say hello to you,” he said, smiling at her seriousness. “You seem a little affronted. Is something on your mind?”

She made a disgusted noise. “I have been talking with Josephine, that’s all. I never have any patience for diplomatic stratagems.” She scowled. “Why are you loitering around outside?”

“I was just…” _Hoping to catch sight of you, if you want to know the truth._ “On my way to see Josephine myself,” he finished, unable to think of any other excuse.

“About what?”

“Nothing in particular,” he stammered. Flustered, he rubbed the back of his neck, a dreadful reflex. His siblings had always teased him for being the worst liar they knew. “I just like to ask her how her work is going, now and then.”

He didn’t expect to see Cassandra look as surprised as he felt. “I see,” she said strangely, after a moment. “Pardon me for keeping you. Good evening, Cullen.” Dropping her gaze, she hurried off.  

Cullen was baffled. It had been a poor lie, even for him, and he couldn’t make any sense of her reaction. Thinking it would be even worse if she saw him going elsewhere, he climbed the steps of their headquarters and knocked on Josephine’s door. “Come in,” she called, and he entered hesitantly, still trying to come up with a pretense for being there.

Josephine was seated at her desk, making notes in a small red book. “Cullen?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “This is an uncanny coincidence.”

“Oh?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Did Cassandra send you?”

“No,” he said, even more confused. “I did pass her on the way here. She seemed rather out of temper.”

Josephine smiled. “That was because she’s been pestering me to reveal the identity of our anonymous supporter. She’s taken quite an interest in it.”

“She has?” With a conscious effort to keep his voice calm, he said, “I should have known that nothing escapes her notice.”

“Rest assured, your secret is safe. Cassandra has no idea that you entrusted us with most of your life savings. Not to mention that a good portion of your current salary is going straight back into our coffers.” Josephine chuckled. “She left here fuming. A mystery like this is exactly the kind of thing that infuriates her most.”

Cullen smiled ruefully. “And here I was trying to do some good for once.”

“On the contrary, you’ve accomplished a great deal.” She paused. “Certainly you’ve managed to attract Cassandra’s attention.”

A sudden flush rose from his collar right up to the tips of his ears. It was possible that he was just imagining it, but Josephine seemed to be scrutinizing him even more closely than usual – which wouldn’t be unwarranted if his face was bright red.

“She wrote you a letter,” Josephine continued, slipping a plain unmarked envelope out from a folder.

He willed himself to appear unflustered as he accepted the letter from Josephine. Turning the envelope over, he saw that the seal had been broken. “You read it,” he said with surprise. _And you wanted to be sure I knew,_ he thought, knowing full well that she could have resealed the letter undetectably. _Why signal that you’re watching this so closely?_

“I read every letter. Each more thrilling than the last,” Josephine said primly.

He pressed the flap of the envelope down so that the seal, though unrestored, at least gave the appearance of being whole. “Thank you, Josephine. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

She waved a hand. “There is no need to thank me, Cullen. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He walked back to his quarters with the letter safely tucked inside his jacket. It bothered him that Josephine had read it before he had. No doubt Leliana would be appraised of its contents as well. But he didn’t have any right to complain – Josephine was only doing her job. Besides, there was no reason to suspect Cassandra’s letter would be anything but formal and professional. And probably, he thought with a chuckle, more than a little blunt. Which was exactly how she must appear to most people. But in the months that he’d been watching her, he’d come to know how much more than was to her than first met the eye.

Alone in his room, he lit a lamp and settled into bed before unfolding Cassandra’s letter. It was longer than he’d expected – and more moving by far.

_Dear Ser,_

_If you are reading this, then Ambassador Josephine has made good on her promise to deliver my message to you. You should know that she has also kept her word to conceal your identity. I confess that it irks me not to know your name, whether you are a man or a woman, human, elf, dwarf, or qunari. The Chant bids us walk in the light as the Maker is in the light, in order that we may have fellowship with one another. As such, I have always felt it is better to declare open alliances than to claim support from the shadows._

_Yet you are surely a true friend of the Inquisition, for your generosity proves your loyalty. Your loyal deceit, then, no doubt proceeds from reasons of your own. It is beyond my capacity to fathom what they may be, and I suppose it is pointless to ask. In any case, that is not the purpose of this letter._

_I write to you because I wish to inform you that your contributions truly are advancing our cause. I set off soon for Kirkwall to investigate a lead, a certain individual who was one of the Champion’s closest companions. In sharing this small update of our activities, I ask for your discretion in turn, but I have hope that our efforts will bring us closer to finding Hawke, and with her, peace for our divided land._

_Most importantly, I write to thank you for your faith in us. You have renewed my own, and in doing so you have given me far more than my thanks could ever repay. In truth, I would much rather thank you properly, personally. It is not often that I find someone who shares the ideals closest to my heart. I do not know what you would make of my boldness, but I pray that the Maker might bring us together someday._

_Yours in unity,_

_Cassandra Pentaghast_

 

Reading the letter, Cullen felt an ache in his chest. He’d told her he wanted nothing to do with his old life, from his first posting at the Circle of Mages to the insanity that had broken loose in Kirkwall. It had seemed fitting to invest what he’d gained from those years in this new phase. He didn’t regret giving the money away – quite the opposite, in fact – but now he wondered if there might have been a different way of going about it.

_You chose anonymity to protect the Inquisition,_ he thought. He hadn’t wanted the organization to become associated with the events at Kirkwall and the remnants of his old order. _And you did it to prove to yourself that you believed in the cause._

_And in her._ Chiefly because he believed in her. She’d been a light amidst the darkness and chaos, with her offer of a fresh start. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d seen the chance to redeem himself, to become someone he could respect again. Someone worthy of her faith.

He carefully folded her letter and slipped it back into its envelope with a heavy heart. It would be duplicitous to write back, even without revealing who he was. If he gave her any more to go on, she would only redouble her pursuit of a person who didn’t exist. Which would give her even less cause to notice him here, Cullen thought gloomily, as he tucked her letter away for safekeeping.

With a sigh, he blew out the lamp and climbed into bed. But he lay awake thinking of Cassandra for a long time after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra’s parable borrows from Luke 21:1-4, “The Widow’s Offering.” In her letter, she alludes to 1 John 5:7. “Loyal deceit” comes from “The Hound of Heaven” by Francis Thompson.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear what you think!


	2. Char the Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra mourns the fall of Haven; Cullen comforts her; Leliana intimidates him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad to have you reading this little story! More good (angsty) times ahead.
> 
> If you could spare a moment to comment, I’d love to hear from you! Thanks again, and enjoy!

“Ah! must—  

  Designer infinite!— 

Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it?”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

The day’s events were almost more than Cassandra could take in. Haven had been destroyed, and for hours it looked as though the Herald of Andraste had been lost along with it. The Herald may have been a mage, but she had a ready wit and an easy sense of humor, and Cassandra had grown to like the younger woman. “Thank the Maker,” she’d breathed, when they’d found her staggering towards their camp, nothing short of a walking miracle.

But even after that, the night wasn’t over yet. While the Herald slept fitfully, Cassandra spent what felt like hours arguing with Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen about their next move. Rationally speaking, all four of them were probably at cross-purposes. But it seemed to her that all three of them had teamed up against her. Naturally, she fumed, Cullen would take Josephine’s side.

Cassandra knew she should be happy that they were together. But every time she recalled how he’d had the gall to put it – _I just like to ask her how her work is going,_ the words clear in her mind – she felt a blaze of jealousy.

She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she couldn’t keep it from herself, the way some part of her had hoped, had always hoped, for all they had in common…

But it was a part of her that could only set her up for heartache. Cullen would never look her way. Not when Josephine, with her girlish giggles and sweet smiles, evidently liked him too.

Cassandra tried to push those thoughts aside as she walked through the camp, the last remnants of their stronghold at Haven. There were more important matters at hand than her sorry feelings. She would have liked something to do, to keep her hands busy and her thoughts at bay, but she was almost giddy with exhaustion and numb from the cold. The whirling snow filled her vision, disorienting her. She didn’t see Cullen until she almost ploughed into him. As she stumbled, caught off balance, he reached out a hand to steady her. She shook him off roughly, embarrassed.

“You’re still awake?” he asked. “Or perhaps not, by the look of things.”

She made a disgusted noise. “There is still much that needs to be done.”

“Yes, and you’re not going to finish it all in one night. I’m glad I ran into you, though,” he added, shyly. “I wanted to tell you that no matter what the Herald decides, I thought your plan was the wisest.”

“You didn’t seem to think so earlier,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “When you were agreeing with the others.”

“But I supported your ideas. Don’t you remember?” He was looking at her strangely. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she snapped, but her head felt light, and her teeth were chattering.

Cullen pulled one glove off and touched the back of his hand to her forehead. She flinched. His hand felt scalding hot.

“Cassandra, you’re shivering,” he said, voice tight with worry. “You should get inside right away. Where are you staying?”

She sighed, as much out of weariness as resignation. “Leliana probably has something set up by now. There will probably be room for one more person.”

He frowned. “I forgot. My men always organize something for me. I didn’t realize – But even if that’s true, you’re in no shape to be wandering around in the dark looking for an unmarked tent. Come with me.”

“I couldn’t impose – ”

“You won’t. I was about to take the next watch. I’ll wake you when I return at sunrise.”

She hadn’t realized it was so late. “Very well,” she said reluctantly, turning to follow him.

She was barely aware of where they were going – after a while, the disorderly caches of supplies and the makeshift shelters all looked the same. Eventually he stopped, held open the flap of a tent, and motioned for her to go inside. He ducked in after her and they sat side by side, which was all the close space permitted. In the small space, it was impossible to hide that she was shivering more violently than before. He lit a lamp and peered at her by its dim red glow. “It must be nothing but stubbornness keeping you going,” he said, shaking his head. “Your lips are blue. Here.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver flask. Loosening the cap, he offered it to her. She held it between both hands, fearing she would drop it otherwise, took a small sip, and tried to give it back to him.

“For the Maker’s sake,” he said, exasperated. “And take off your shield and armor. You might as well be encased in solid ice.”

She unbuckled her shield and tried to keep her voice light to mask how exposed she felt. “Drinking and undressing? What will people say?”

“They’ll say you were clearly unwell to be making jokes at a time like this!” He was angrier than she’d seen him. It gave her a small, childish thrill to wind him up. _Why am I antagonizing him?_ she wondered. She could be spiteful, she knew, particularly when she felt vulnerable. It wasn’t something she was proud of.

Her eyes fell to the small wooden box placed carefully in a corner. Another thing that made its ugly presence felt. “How has that been going?” she asked, knowing he would understand what she meant.

“I’ve reduced the dosage slightly,” he said, but he looked troubled. When he’d asked her to monitor his efforts to withdraw from lyrium, she’d advised him to cease taking it completely, all at once. She cited a case where a Templar had become completely clean in four weeks. But Cullen argued that the side effects of a complete withdrawal – nausea, migraines, in some cases paranoia and delusion – would keep him from his work. At the very least, signs of illness would arouse suspicion, and he hadn’t wanted anyone else to know what he was doing.

So she’d agreed, reluctantly, to his suggestion that he cut back gradually instead. A year later, his addiction still dragged on, a thinner chain, but a chain nonetheless.

“You’re still taking it every day?”

“Yes.” He sighed, evidently looking to change the subject. “Is the brandy all right? I’m told it’s something of an acquired taste to people who aren’t from Fereldan. I would have tried to save something else if I knew I’d be entertaining.” He gave her a lopsided smile.

“I like it.” She could feel its warmth spreading through her chest, loosening her tongue, though she was dimly aware that her hands were still freezing. She took another drink from the flask before holding it out to him, shaking it from side to side. “Though I was always told it was wrong to drink alone.”

Maker, but now she was flirting with him. Trust her to wait until this moment, when he was already seeing Josephine, and she was quite possibly dying of hypothermia.

But apparently he was in the mood to humor her. He gave her a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up, and which warmed her better than any draught could. Tipping the flask in a salute towards her, he took a drink. They passed it back and forth between them until it was empty.

“You’re still shaking,” he said. Before she could protest, he unfastened his coat, leaned over, and wrapped it around her. She tried to shrug him off, but he put an arm around her shoulders, holding it in place. She could feel his warm breath on her ear, his calming strength as he braced her against the shivers wracking her body.

“It’s not just the cold,” she said, suddenly. “The destruction of Haven brought back memories. I was thinking of the explosion at the Conclave.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quietly. “You never really had time to process that.”

“My feelings don’t matter. Except when they start to get in the way of my duty.” _Or when they try to convince me that it’s all right to cuddle up with the lover of one of my best friends,_ she thought, suddenly furious at herself. She brushed him off, wishing she wasn’t still wearing his jacket, wishing she didn’t find its furry weight as comforting as she did. They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

“I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to ask before, but you must have known many of the people who were at the Conclave.”

“Several of the Templars. A few of the mages.” She bit her lip. “One was a friend of mine from long ago.”

“Was it the mage who was with you when you saved Divine Beatrix?” he asked gently.

She closed her eyes. “Yes. Regalyan. He and I had not spoken in some years. But I was planning on going to see him once the talks were resolved. I do regret not reaching out to him sooner.”

She wondered, distantly, why she was telling Cullen all this – and why she was leaning against his shoulder, closing her eyes. His voice drifted through her fading consciousness, sounding lost and far away. “I’m sorry. I’ve kept you talking when you should be getting some sleep.”

He helped her into the bedroll, still bundled up in his large jacket. “You should take this,” she said.

“Why? Is it not your color?” He let out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll borrow another from my men. Rest well, Cassandra. We’ll need you on your feet tomorrow.”

Her head was beginning to spin from the liquor she’d drunk, not altogether unpleasantly. “You must be happy that Josephine never runs around taking foolish risks,” she murmured.

His back was to her, fussing with the lamp. “Yes, it wouldn’t do for her to be out in the cold either,” he said evenly, after a moment. “Not when she’s so valuable to the Inquisition.”

“I – I thought she might be in here, actually,” she said. “I hope she doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with Josephine at a time like this.”

Cassandra thought to chide him for his brusqueness, but she fell asleep before she even heard him leave.

* * *

 

Hours later, as Cullen was completing his rounds, he saw Leliana coming over the hill. She looked rested and alert, her gray veil neatly pinned over her hair. She called to him, “Have you seen Cassandra? I don’t know if she ever retired for the night.” She tutted. “You’d think she wouldn’t need looking after, but she doesn’t know what’s good for her sometimes.”

“She was searching for you last night. She’d been out in the cold for hours. I asked her to spent the night in my tent – while I was out here on patrol,” he added quickly.

Leliana was too shrewd to think he might be hiding something. Still, she gave him a long, searching look, her silences considerably more uncomfortable than anything she might have said.

Finally, she piped up brightly, “In the years I’ve known her, I’ve found Cassandra extremely difficult to persuade. If I’d known she’d be so agreeable around a handsome Fereldan Templar, I would have gone and recruited you myself!”

He smiled weakly at her, uncertain of what she meant to imply. Sometimes with Leliana, the best he could do was feign nonchalance and hope things would make more sense as they went along. “A handsome Fereldan Templar?” he said, in mock-surprise. “Do you know where to find one? I have a sister who’d probably like to know.”

Leliana laughed, apparently delighted. “You speak too lowly of your talents as usual, Cullen. Particularly where Cassandra is concerned. Tell me, what did she open up to you about when you gave her your oak-aged Fereldan brandy? Anthony? Galyan?”

Cullen felt his face grow hot. “Were you crouched outside eavesdropping?”

She waved a hand. “You always carry your flask in your coat. You’re not wearing it now, though it’s freezing outside, which means you left it with her. And you would not have offered her your coat without giving her a drink as well, if she was as cold as you say.”

Defeated, he said with a sigh, “She talked a little about Galyan. I suppose you know he died at the Conclave.”

“Yes.”

“They were lovers, weren’t they?”

She nodded. “Though not for very long. He was a charming man, but inconstant. Cassandra was fond of him all the same.” Somehow she made her last sentence sound like a threat.

With a deep sigh, she went on. “She can such a sad drunk, our Cassandra. I suppose no one told you. One glass of wine can have her spilling her heart out like a lovesick schoolgirl. Still, I suppose you’re too upright and chivalrous to do anything too compromising. Aside from getting her into your bedroll, which you seem to have managed easily enough.” She gave him a half-smile, raising one eyebrow.

Was she teasing him? Encouraging him? Or warning him to stay away? Holding her gaze, he said, “I would blanch at such praise from anyone else, but everyone knows that you’re the ultimate judge of character.”

“Oh, I’ve been wrong before,” she said airily. “And I have not liked doing the things that must be done when that’s been the case. Speaking of which, I must attend to other matters. Good morning, Cullen.”

“Good morning,” he echoed warily, as she walked away.

When he was sure Leliana wasn’t following him (though he looked over his shoulder now and then just in case), Cullen headed back to his tent. He’d promised to wake Cassandra, but through the hours of his watch, he’d been thinking of it was probably fine to watch her sleep for a minute or two first. As he had paused to do the previous night, ever so briefly.

In his imagination, he’d gone so far as to imagine himself laying next to her, resting his arm on the smooth rise of her hip, listening to her steady breathing – and then a little further besides. But these were precisely the kind of compromising thoughts Leliana suspected he was harboring. He sighed. She must know that she was right on target.

He pushed open the flap of the tent and saw, to his disappointment, that Cassandra had already risen and gone. She’d made the bed, leaving his coat folded neatly on his pillow. Well aware of the tragic figure he cut, Cullen buried his face in his coat, as though a ghost of her warmth still lingered. Here was another thing, now, that would only to serve to remind him of her when she wasn’t there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Public service announcement: It turns out that “the consumption of alcohol in a state of hypothermia is counterproductive.” This is the first of at least two dubious but important medical practices that will be in here – but they work just fine in Thedas. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear what you think!


	3. One Little Casement Parted Wide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra grumbles about nuggalopes, tries to suppress her growing feelings for Cullen; Cullen finds himself in Skyhold’s tavern with her.

       “I pleaded, outlaw-wise, 

By many a hearted casement, curtained red, 

  Trellised with intertwining charities;

(For, though I knew His love Who followèd,

        Yet was I sore adread           

Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside).         

But, if one little casement parted wide,         

  The gust of His approach would clash it to.

  Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

He was everywhere, it seemed.

She saw him at the War Table, of course – their newly minted Inquisitor calling their meetings more and more frequently as she grew into her role. It was the mark of a good leader that she continued to seek counsel even as she grew in confidence and experience, Cassandra thought with approval. She tried to focus on the Inquisitor, keeping Cullen and Josephine outside her line of vision as far as possible –

(Cullen said cheerily, “If you squint, Lake Calenhad looks like a bunny.”

Josephine, a little worriedly: “I think we should take a –”

“Oh! I think I see it!” Leliana exclaimed.

The Inquisitor chortled as Cassandra, eyes averted, made a disgusted noise.)

–  and she made it a point to be the first to depart, just so she’d be spared the sight of the two of them leaving together.

The memory of his arm around her in his tent dogged her. How could he stand to be so familiar with her when he was together with Josephine? Unless to him it had been nothing more than a friendly, innocent touch from one friend to another, and the rest was only in her lurid imagination.

She saw him at supper early one evening, drawing out the empty chair across from her. “May I?” he asked, with a smile that made her heart flutter. She kept her gaze low, but couldn’t help being drawn into conversation with him. Laughter came easily to them (“The look on Vivienne’s face when Sera called Halamshiral a golden shitter!”), only to be interrupted by Leliana joining, not even to eat (with perhaps justifiable eccentricity, Leliana prepared most of her own meals herself, and had often urged Cassandra to do the same; even her nugs’ chow was specially sourced from Maker knows where, and how Leliana found the time to keep up with all of this on top of her work, Cassandra never knew), simply to tell them a long and frivolous story she’d heard from Josephine about the latest marriage proposal the Inquisitor had received. Cassandra took the opportunity to finish her food as quickly as possible. She excused herself, and all but fled the hall, conscious of Leliana’s eyes burrowing into her back.

Maker help her if it was all in her mind, but why was Cullen so attentive towards her? And how could Josephine tolerate it? But it was out of the question to raise the issue. Nor did Leliana mention it whenever the three of them gathered privately in the rookery to talk late into the night over Josephine’s reliable supply of Antivan brandy, as was their monthly custom. They’d discussed plenty of other lovers before, but it seemed that Cullen was very much off limits by tacit agreement. They were all too close for that. So Cassandra kept her thoughts to herself, on the very matter she would most have liked counsel.

She saw him in his office regularly. Having resolved to take a firmer hand with her charge, she went to see him more often about his progress with the lyrium withdrawal. Or at least she told herself that was the reason for her now frequent visits. “I think you should try taking it once every two days. Then three, then four,” she told him. “I believe you can do it.”

He was hesitant. “The symptoms…”

“Will not hinder you from your duties, if you choose to fight them.”

She’d meant to keep a firm hand, but at the last moment she paused by the door. “The Maker knows our struggles. Even the ones no one else sees,” she said, biting her lip. “I pray that He will give you even courage than you have already shown. I know that it can be frightening to try to let go of something that has been a part of you for so long.”

_Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite._

She saw him in the Chantry, speaking with Mother Giselle. _Maker, have mercy on me, a sinner._ Reciting the Chant of Light with her, his voice resounding richly above the congregation. _For You are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only Yours to give._

She saw him in Dorian’s library, so engrossed in a book that he didn’t see her walk past. She noticed him anyway, felt his presence like a shift in the air before a summer storm.

In the stables, talking to the horse master about mounts for the troops, while she arrived back from the Western Approach with the Inquisitor’s party, sand still caught in their saddlebags. “You’ve brought the desert back with you,” he said, brushing her horse’s mane with his hand. A haze of orange dust shimmered between their faces.

In her room, blowing out the candle before joining her on her bed. He wore armor emblazoned with the flaming sword of the Templars, the same he’d worn when they’d met in Kirkwall. He pressed his palms flat to hers, in his measured strength entirely her equal. “Cullen,” she whispered, kissing him full on the lips. He unbuttoned her shirt, caressing her arms as he tugged it off her shoulders, and threw it aside, turning his attention immediately back to her. She moaned as his hands teased the skin just above her waistband, his fingers slipping beneath to trace the hard curves of her hips. And woke from this vision tangled in her sheets, gasping for air as though she’d run a hundred miles. A dream, but one that had felt as vivid as anything she’d ever known. The emotions had been real, even if the circumstances hadn’t.

She stumbled out of her bed and poured herself a glass of water, forcing herself to take slow breaths. He was her colleague and her friend, nothing more. And he was with Josephine besides! What she imagined between herself and him was a transgression. An affliction.

A test.

_Did I make a grand, sanctimonious show of recruiting him for the Inquisition when I really coveted him for myself? Do I resent him now that he’s chosen Josephine? Does it make me want him more? Have I been too lenient with him with regards to the lyrium because I enjoy his dependence on me – the hold it gives me on him?_ Her thoughts made her sick. _How can you expect to strengthen the Inquisition – to guide the Inquisitor – to serve the Maker when you’re losing control over yourself?_

She rested her forehead against her window, inhaling the cool night air and willing it clear her head. Before getting back into bed, she knelt on the floor and prayed.

_Maker, please purify my motives; let clean deeds proceed from them._

_Show me how to help him; take me out of the way._

_Above all, increase my vision of You, the giver and source of true love._

But there was still that heady dream – and the throb it inspired in her veins – that she wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

* * *

 

She came by in the afternoon, usually. So Cullen was surprised to hear her knock on his door late one evening, long after he’d given up hope of seeing her that day. His heart rose, foolishly.

“I thought you might still be here,” Cassandra said, letting herself in.

“I sleep on the upper floor. I’m always here,” he said jokingly, realizing too late how pathetic it sounded. “Is there something you need?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you might like to go for a drink. Friends sometimes do.” She didn’t even crack a smile. “Or so I’m told.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, teasingly. _That I’ve hit my head and reawakened in the Fade, perhaps._ If not for the way she’d so carefully called them “friends.”

“Must there be one?” she retorted.

“No, of course not. Your invitation is more than enough.” He noticed that she was still wearing her shield, with her sword strapped to her side. She’d probably come straight from training. “You’re welcome to leave your things here,” he said, gesturing. “Unless you were planning on starting a tavern brawl.”

“I might if I see Varric there,” she said bitterly. “I still can’t believe he was withholding Hawke’s whereabouts from us all this time.”

She sounded furious, but Cullen knew that in the passing months, her disgust at the dwarf had ebbed. Now her anger was mostly for show, the banter between them more good-natured than acrid. “Perhaps it was best this way,” he said, congenially. “You might never have found the Inquisitor otherwise.”

“And we wouldn’t have all those demented creatures in our stables,” she grumbled. “First dracolisks, then those ridiculous overgrown nugs. What will it be next? The mounts of the undead?”

“I wouldn’t put it past our Inquisitor,” Cullen said, smiling.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “There is no finer creature than a good steed. I don’t see the advantage to be gained by keeping those monsters. They disturb the horses. They’re enough to disturb anyone.”

He was happy to let her vent about the Inquisitor’s other oddities as they walked to the tavern, nodding along and putting in only the occasional comment. He knew her well enough to recognize when her umbrage was really a sign of her affection.

He spent far too much time thinking about her affections.

Herald’s Rest was in the later part of its evening. The soldiers had come and gone – off to do more serious drinking in their private quarters, most likely – leaving a scattering of merchants and tradesman. Cassandra strode over to a bench on the ground floor, facing the center of the room, and he took a seat next to her. With a nod to Cassandra, the barkeep brought two small glasses and a tall bottle filled with a golden liquid Cullen didn’t recognize. “I don’t believe I’ve seen this before,” he said, rotating the bottle to examine the script on the label. “Is it Nevarran?”

She nodded. “It’s a kind of honey liquor that’s made there. Hard to find elsewhere, but they keep it in stock for me here when they can. It’s a kindness. I suspect Josephine had something to do with it.”

“She certainly has an eye for detail.”

“And many other fine qualities besides.” She topped off their glasses and raised one in a toast. “To Josephine, a truly remarkable woman.”

Though slightly puzzled at Cassandra’s zeal, Cullen clinked his glass with hers. He was about to throw the shot back when he noticed her taking only a small sip. Unsure of whether that was the custom or if she was simply taking special care to pace herself, he followed suit. The liquor was pleasantly warm on his tongue, sweet without being cloying. “Thank you, Cassandra. This is very nice.”

She didn’t answer, and he saw that she was watching the bard who had just taken her place by the fire. Lifting her instrument, the woman began to play. Conversation continued throughout the tavern, but from where they were sitting, they could hear the lyrics, a lilting tribute to the Grey Wardens. Cassandra turned back to him after the song ended.

“I know these past few weeks have been a trying time for you personally,” she said, keeping her voice low, though no one was close enough to overhear them. “I thought the music might prove a welcome distraction.”

“That’s more consideration than I deserve,” he said, moved. “I’m touched, Cassandra. You always find a way to go beyond your duty.”

“There’s no need to flatter me,” she said sharply. She sucked in her cheeks and looked away, on the pretext of watching the bard start up her next song. Inwardly Cullen sighed. How did he always manage to irritate her?

As the bard played, though, he found himself caught up in her song, nodding along in time to the music. “You recognize this?” Cassandra asked, her anger forgotten.

“I thought I did. The tune is new to me, but it borrows words from an old Fereldan poem about stewarding one’s dowry and – ah – other maidenly possessions.” He blushed. “It’s a bit cheeky, but it alludes to a passage in the Chant of Light. ‘Whoever is faithful with little will also be faithful with much, and whoever is unfaithful with little will also be unfaithful with much. If you have not been trustworthy with worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches? And if you haven’t been faithful in looking after what belongs to someone else, who is going to give you something of your own?’ I’ve always liked it for that reason,” he added, somewhat more defensively than he would have liked.

She smirked. “Why, Commander. I didn’t know you were so well-read.”

“My mother and sisters were fond of poetry,” he said, hesitantly. “I couldn’t help but hear a great deal of it growing up.”

“You needn’t be so bashful. In Nevarra, poetry is considered an integral part of a noble’s education, as basic as learning to ride.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked, intrigued. “Nevarra, I mean.”

“Nevarra? Not particularly. But it is my homeland, all the same, and I have tried to develop a greater appreciation for its things. Like this,” she said, indicating the bottle. “My uncle would allow my brother Anthony and me to have a taste of it on special occasions. There was one time when…” She let out a short laugh. “Never mind. I won’t bore you with old stories.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” he said honestly, but she shook her head in dismissal.

“I wouldn’t want to acquire a reputation for being a sad drunk. Going on and on about the lost men in my life. It really makes me feel like a strong female character.”

She turned back towards the bard, propping her chin on one hand. In the amber glow of the torches, her features were softer, more pensive. It seemed that every kind of light brought out some fresh aspect of her beauty, Cullen thought wistfully.

“Do you miss Honnleath?” she asked, when the next song ended.

“I do think of it from time to time,” he admitted. “I resolved to leave it behind me when I joined the Templars. But that hasn’t stopped me from dwelling on it occasionally.”

“You needn’t be so hard on yourself. You followed the Order at every turn, and now you are here. In an abandoned elven fortress in the middle of nowhere,” she said dryly. “Besides, you still have family in Honnleath.”

“Yes, as they never cease to remind me,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m surprised that you remembered, though.”

She looked away, watching the sparks jump in the fireplace. “It’s no shame to have loved,” she said after a moment. “To have formed attachments to the people or places which made you who you are.”

“Provided you’re able to keep the past from dragging you down. I sometimes wonder if I hinder myself from committing fully to the cause at hand. There’s a saying, isn’t there? The good is always the enemy of the best.”

“True,” she agreed. “But it’s not always easy to discern which is which.”

She watched him closely as she spoke. He wondered if he was as easy to read as everyone else claimed – his sisters, Leliana, Josephine. Even Varric and Iron Bull had started giving him significant looks whenever they caught him staring longingly after Cassandra, which happened often. But if Cassandra saw anything but a friend’s concern in his face, she didn’t let on.

They departed together at closing time, having stayed out unexpectedly late. Cullen lost track of time when he was with Cassandra, and still it seemed that there was never enough of it. At the courtyard, she turned to leave, but he stopped her. “Your sword and shield are in my office,” he reminded her. A little self-conscious about asking her in at this hour, he added, “I could have them sent to you tomorrow morning, if you prefer.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly, following him up the battlement stairs. “Thank you. I had quite forgotten.”

Another person would simply have carried her sword and shield the short distance back to her room, but Cassandra put them on with alacrity, as though she was needed in battle right that second. She seemed to be in a terrible hurry to leave. But she paused at the door to spare him a backward glance.

“I hope this evening was of some help to you,” she said. “The bard plays three nights a week. Perhaps you and Josephine could go again sometime.”

Cullen was bewildered. “Josephine?” he asked, perplexed at the mention of her again.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Yes, Josephine! I believe you know of her!”

He took a deep breath. “Actually, I was thinking of asking you,” he said. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You seemed to enjoy the music, and I – I enjoyed seeing more of you, outside of our work.”

He couldn’t have provoked a worse reaction from her if he’d suggested bringing along a dragon.

“This was not a – a social call,” she snapped, almost spitting out the words. “My intentions were solely to help you to quit your addiction to lyrium, which you should have accomplished long ago!”

Throwing him a look of pure outrage, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Cullen groaned and sank to the floor, burying his head in his hands. All she was trying to do was execute her duties, and here he was harassing her with his clumsy advances. He was an even bigger idiot than he’d thought.

The door abruptly flew open and Cassandra barged back in. “I would like to apologize,” she said haltingly. “I spoke harshly. I should not have been so rude.”

“It was no less than I deserved,” Cullen replied, dazedly. “Please forgive me as well. I shouldn’t have suggested anything inappropriate.”

Without acknowledging that he was still abjectly sitting on the floor, Cassandra went on, “I was thinking. As I’m here, would you have a moment to catch me up on the status of our forces in the Hissing Wastes?”

Cullen just nodded, not trusting himself to say more. But as they began discussing the Inquisition’s troop movements in the west, he regained his composure. With Cassandra’s input, they improved some of the strategies he’d been hatching and came up with a few new ones. They genuinely complimented each other in their work. She had chosen her peace offering well. When at last she stood again to leave, Cullen genuinely felt at peace with where they’d come to.

“Thank you, Cassandra. I value our friendship more than I can say.” He meant it. His conscience was clear. “And I count it a privilege to serve under your leadership.”

She frowned. “Commander, we are equal partners in the Inquisition.”

“Yet I will always remember that you were the one who brought me in,” he said earnestly. “We owe you more than you recognize. The Inquisition is strong because you are strong.”

“Do not idolize me,” she said coldly.

Then her expression softened.

In a low voice, she went on, “I have always had a weakness for you.”

Rising on tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Cullen,” she said, and walked out into the night.

Cullen stood gaping after her. Her actions were ambiguous, and her words even more so. But was it possible that he’d misunderstood her after all?

He’d only regret it if he didn’t find out.

“Cassandra,” he shouted, running after her. “Wait!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In his explanation of the Fereldan poem, Cullen quotes Luke 16:10-12. As far as I know, there aren’t actually any bawdy songs based on that passage. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you could spare a moment to comment, I’d love to hear what you think!


	4. Nigh and Nigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra tells Cullen how she feels about him; Cullen shows her the feeling is mutual.

“Nigh and nigh draws the chase,                

    With unperturbèd pace,       

  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy;   

    And past those noisèd Feet  

    A voice comes yet more fleet—       

  ‘Lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not Me!’”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

She’d hoped he would chase her, pretended she didn’t, encouraged him anyway, loathed herself. Longed for him, prayed to let him go, imagined she’d repented, betrayed them both by kissing him on the cheek.

She turned and saw him coming towards her. _Maker, help me._ She’d only diminish him with her selfish desires.

_Maker, show me how to do right by us both._

“Cullen,” she said softly, resolved to kill her feeble hopes.

* * *

 

She spoke his name as though it were a prayer. Cullen would never cease to wonder at her.

“Cassandra, please,” he begged. “You can’t leave if that’s how you say goodbye.” He’d meant to keep his tone light, but he knew he sounded wounded.

“You are right to admonish me,” she said after a moment. “I have not been fair to you.”

Cullen blushed. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot – ”

She held his gaze. “You’ve done nothing wrong. The fault is mine. There are some things I should have said to you before.”

She glanced at the door to his office, standing ajar. “May I?”

His heart was pounding. He no longer knew what to expect. “Of course.” He closed the door behind them and set two chairs side by side before his desk. She sat, keeping her eyes lowered to the floor. Cullen took the seat next to her. For a while, neither of them said anything.

At last Cassandra spoke. “Please forgive me for my words. I know that I am brash and difficult. And disagreeable. And I must apologize again. For – ” She bit her lip. “My inappropriate behavior. I know you are spoken for. There is no excuse for the way I have acted. I shall not put you in that position again.” She looked up at him then, her eyes full of uncertainty. “I hope I have not permanently undermined our friendship.”

Cullen was bewildered. “Spoken for? What are you talking about?”

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t pretend to know exactly what kind of arrangement you and Josephine have, but I assure you, I will not vie for your attention any longer. And I would ask you likewise to forswear mine.”

“Me and Josephine?” Cullen said, amazed. “There’s nothing going on between me and Josephine.”

For a moment, Cassandra looked ready to wring a different answer out of him. Then confusion passed over her face.

“I thought… In Haven, when you said you were going to see her, I thought you meant…” Her shoulders tensed. “You seemed to like her so much.”

“She’s not the woman I’ve come to care for,” he murmured. She looked at him sharply, eyes searching his face. “I care deeply for you, Cassandra. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I couldn’t let another day go by without telling you how I felt.” He swallowed. “But I would understand if you preferred to remain friends.”

She closed her eyes. Her lips moved silently for a moment. _Maker,_ he saw, though he couldn’t decipher the rest. “Cullen,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “The truth is that I have had feelings for you for some time. But…”

She let out a slow exhale. “My highest allegiance is to the Maker, followed by the Inquisition. I can never allow my own desires to take precedence. Before, romantic relationships seemed to me nothing more than a beguiling dream. I could not see how they could lead to anything but distraction and ruin.

“Then I met you.”

She looked at him with glowing fervor. “I marvel at your devotion to pursuing what is right. In you I see more courage and passion than I ever thought possible. I must confess that I was drawn to you from the start.” She bit her lip. “But you are in an unstable season.”

He understood. “The lyrium withdrawal,” he said.

She nodded. “You placed yourself under my charge. That, and the fact I have been taught to be cautious where relationships are concerned.” She added quickly, “I do not mean to cast aspersions on your character. There are very few people I have ever trusted completely.”

“That’s perhaps prudent in these times,” he said. They had both been betrayed by many they had held close. “There’s no need to apologize. I take no offense.”

She let out a long breath, shoulders relaxing. “I am grateful for your understanding. Truly. It means a lot to me.”

“As your confidence does to me.” After a moment, he said wistfully, “You said you had a weakness for me. I wish I were more able to lend you strength.”

She looked at him curiously. “But you already do.”

She reached for his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. For a while, they sat there without speaking, letting the silence settle comfortably between them. It felt right not to rush into things – even if, Cullen thought with an inward smile, that was the last thing anyone would have associated with Cassandra. That she was being so careful was a sure indication of how seriously she took their relationship, and rather than growing impatient, he found he revered her all the more for it.

“So where does this leave us?” he asked gently, when enough time had passed. She bit her lip again.

“I don’t know. Our lives are strange and unpredictable. It seems a little frivolous to hope for a – an ordinary courtship, as much as I enjoyed the pleasure of your company tonight, truly I did.” She paused. “But things are changing so quickly now. Just this past week when I rode out, I worried that I wouldn’t return to tell you how I feel – that I – I long to be yours.”

She was looking at him with such tenderness that he could hardly bear it. How was it that a woman of such strength and assurance could think him worthy of her? “Cassandra,” he said, touching her hand to his lips, and she shivered. “If you wish it, I would give my life to honor you.”

That snapped her out of her trance. “Honor me?” she said, almost scornfully. “I hope you intend to do _much_ more than honor me.”

The look she gave him then could have melted steel. He reached for her as she moved towards him, and their lips met in a smoldering kiss. He pulled her close, feeling her body yield at his touch. His gentle caresses grew bolder, and she gave a little gasp as his tongue darted out to touch hers, before parting her lips to allow him in deeper. The way sighed and moaned to let him know she enjoyed what he was doing was enough to drive him almost out of his mind, but he kept his touches slow and shy, not willing to rush a moment of this agonizing sweetness.

They broke apart after what felt like hours. Both of them were breathing shakily, reeling. Cassandra’s lips had darkened and her eyes were bright. Cullen drank in the sight of her in awe.

“I almost can’t believe this is real,” she said tremulously, and he returned her quivering smile. “Cullen, is this right?”

“I hope so,” he said fervently. “I want so much for that to be true.”

He kissed her again, with more restraint this time, and she smiled at him with growing confidence. Then she stood, running a hand through her hair. Something about the careless gesture made Cullen go weak in the knees. He hoped he’d never get used to it.

“Lady Cassandra,” he said. “Would you honor me, now, with the privilege of walking you home?”

He bowed with a grand flourish, and she scowled at him. “Don’t overdo it,” she said. But a smile tugged at her lips.

They held hands as they walked through the courtyard under the canopy of stars. At the entrance to her quarters above the smithy, they paused. She kissed him again, smiling at their mutual reluctance to bring an end to the evening. “Good night, Cullen,” she said softly. “I’d detain you longer tonight, but we have much to do tomorrow.”

“Good night, Cassandra.” He couldn’t resist kissing her one last time. “I wish I could stay. But it’s my joy to do as you ask. My lady,” he added, chuckling as she made a disgusted noise, one that he would replay in his mind the whole way back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy words may have been spoken, but don’t worry, there are still eight more chapters to go! ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you could spare a moment to comment, I’d love to hear what you think!


	5. Naught Shelters Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra gets Cullen to fix the hole in his roof; Varric provokes her; the Inquisitor's party is ambushed by Red Templars; Cullen has to make a terrible choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback so far - I'm so glad to have you as a reader!

**Chapter Five: Naught Shelters Thee**

Summary: Cassandra gets Cullen to fix the hole in his roof; Varric provokes her; the Inquisitor’s party is ambushed by Red Templars; Cullen has to make a terrible choice.

 

“Still with unhurrying chase, 

      And unperturbèd pace,    

    Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,          

      Came on the following Feet,       

      And a Voice above their beat—         

    ‘Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.’”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

Life went on at Skyhold, and it seemed a wonder to Cassandra that no one else knew about her and Cullen – at least, not yet. When they met at the War Table, they stayed a good distance apart and were careful not to make too much eye contact. Still, Cassandra was keenly aware of the charge between them. Surely Leliana and Josephine must sense it too – but Cassandra knew that they were perfectly capable of holding their cards until the moment they desired to reveal them.

At any rate, the present held enough drama of its own. They had convened to decide what was to be done about Blackwall’s deception, the Inquisitor eventually opting to leverage on their connections to see his life spared. She left talking with Josephine, and Cullen, with a perfectly professional nod to Cassandra and Leliana, followed behind them. When they had gone, Leliana burst out, “What a disaster. As if we needed any more complications. Men! They are so treacherous!”

“Women can treacherous too,” Cassandra said affably.

“I have not forgotten that,” Leliana shot back, no doubt thinking of Marjolaine. She sighed. “What did Divine Justinia use to say? Strive to be at peace with all – ”

“– but only trust a few,” Cassandra finished. “At the same time, she was the most compassionate woman I knew. She brought out the best in everyone.”

“Not everyone, or Maker knows she’d still be with us now,” Leliana said bitterly. “Andraste rest her soul.

“But I have allowed myself to be distracted,” Leliana added. “I wanted to ask you, how is Cullen doing?”

Cassandra frowned before she could help it. Had Leliana guessed at their relationship, new as it was? Had she detected some sign of his lyrium withdrawal? “You saw him a moment ago, just as I did. He appears to be well. Why do you ask?”

“You see more of him than I do.”

“There’s something else on your mind. Spit it out.”

Leliana leveled her gaze. “My agents in Kirkwall hear things. They say that Knight-Captain Cullen’s involvement in the uprisings was not as scrupulous as he would have us believe.”

Cassandra gritted her teeth. “Baseless rumors. You know how people talk. I was at Kirkwall myself. I investigated the circumstances thoroughly.”

“Just like you investigated Varric’s?”

Cassandra fumed. The hit was somewhat below the belt, but Leliana was not one to be fazed by accusations of foul play.

Leliana continued, “He had cause, but he waited to act upon it. If he had reacted sooner, the situation at Kirkwall could have been different.”

“He was not first in command. He did not want to disobey his superiors hastily.”

“His superiors were corrupt. He knew that.” She eyed Cassandra. “You think I am being too severe.”

“Fire burns, but it also purifies,” Cassandra replied, with the barest hint of sarcasm.

“Yes, Divine Justinia used to say that too.” Leliana gave her a hard look. “May none of us be spared.”

“Nor should anyone take pleasure in watching things burn.”

Leliana laughed. “There, there. Don’t sulk, Cassie,” she said sweetly, but there was a hard edge to the order. “You know I have our best interests at heart.”

Cassandra almost snapped at her, but at the last second she held her tongue. Leliana was probably still smarting from the failure of her intelligence regarding Blackwall, she thought. Even if it wasn’t fair of her to take it out on Cullen.

But were her suspicions so unreasonable? They’d learned nothing if Blackwall hadn’t taught them to be warier.

She nodded at Leliana, and said curtly, “I appreciate your concern. Good day.”

_Maker,_ she thought as she left, _grant that my faith in Cullen has not been misplaced. No – above all, bring the truth to light._

* * *

 

But it was a halfhearted prayer, now that she and Cullen were becoming closer with each passing day. For the most part, things between them were slow and disarmingly sweet. One time he said, “Will you come upstairs with me? I want to show you something.” If he had been any other man, Cassandra would have adamantly refused. His bed was on the upper floor, and that was a line she wasn’t yet ready to cross – even if she’d thought about it plenty. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. Climbing up the ladder, she saw that he’d taken his blanket and pillows off the bed and arranged them on the floor beneath the gaping hole in his roof.

“Equinor is brilliant tonight,” he said. “It won’t be this bright again for another four hundred years.” He pointed out the constellation of the rearing horse, the points of its flared mane and tail twinkling against the dark sky.

The stars in the vastness and distance instilled a reverent silence in them as they lay on the floor together, her head resting on his arm. But Cassandra was never one to be still for long. She turned, raising her head to look at him.

“Cullen, what do you do when it rains?”

He smiled. “What everyone does. I get wet.”

He said it innocently, but his words sent a jolt of arousal through her, and she shivered. How could he be so unaware of the effect he had on her? To cover her momentary lapse, she retorted, “Not everyone is like that, Cullen. It’s hardly an excuse for passivity. You can’t stop the rain, but you can fix the hole in your roof.” Nuzzling his neck, she added, “Though I would have been sorry to miss this moment with you.”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “As would I. Perhaps you’re right, though. I’ll see what I can do. And the stars will still be there, for us to look at every night.”

(The next day, Cassandra passed a small crowd gathered to watch soldiers set up scaffolding around Cullen’s tower, climbing up and down with building materials. She could see Cullen himself directing them, occasionally lending a hand. “Took him long enough,” the Inquisitor said, looking on admiringly. “Now I can listen to updates on our troops without expecting a bird to shit on my head at any moment.”)

Still, there was no question that the pace of their relationship was increasing swiftly. She went to him almost every night now, the two of them having decided that his quarters afforded them more privacy. It was becoming harder to part from him, even for a day or two. Her stomach knotted up with dread as the Inquisitor made their final preparations to confront Corypheus’ Red Templars at the Arbor Wilds, a journey that would keep her away from Skyhold for at least a fortnight. Over the war table, her eyes met Cullen’s, and a desperate understanding passed between them. That night, though she could have used all the rest she could get, she couldn’t resist going to see him. As soon as she entered, he caught her up in his arms and kissed her so hard that she could barely breathe. She kicked the door shut behind her and they stumbled backwards, still kissing, until Cassandra felt the back of her knees hit the side of his desk. Before she knew what was happening, Cullen bent her backwards onto the desk, breaking their kiss to trail his tongue down her neck. Tugging down her collar, he bit her on the curve of her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but it was more than sufficient to drive her wild for him. She yanked him down on top of her, gasping as his hips rocked against hers. She knew they were crushing his maps, smudging the ink on a letter he’d been in the middle of writing, and scattering papers all over the floor, but she was past the point of caring. He moaned her name into her mouth and she shuddered, feeling the last traces of her resolve melt away.

Abruptly, there was a sound of shattering glass. An empty bottle lay in pieces on the floor. She stared at the shards, gasping for breath. Her eyes met Cullen’s, and for the first time she realized what a fearful force coursed between them. Cullen was the one who broke their eye contact a moment later. He stood quickly, straightening his clothing, and started picking up the broken glass.

Part of her wanted nothing more than to pin him to the floor and finish what they’d started. She sat up slowly, trying to dispel the feeling. It was a brutal, savage urge to take her pleasure from him without regard for the trust that still needed time to develop between them. Nothing could be less worthy of him. “Sorry,” she whispered aloud, bending beside him to help.

“No, don’t be. It was probably my fault,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t keep you. “You have a long journey tomorrow.”

She nodded. “I should go,” she said, though the longing for more still hung in the air. She kissed him quickly on the lips and hurried away.

What she felt for him was almost overwhelming, all the more for having been resisted for so long. But feelings were one thing, and lasting faith in each was another. She didn’t want to damage their nascent relationship with anything they’d regret afterwards. It was well within their power to hurt each other very badly.

Fire purifies, but it also burns, she thought.

_Maker, help me do right by us both._

* * *

 

Cassandra spent the next morning ensuring that preparations were in place to keep Skyhold running smoothly while she and the inner circle were away. Then, gathering her weapon and pack, she headed to the stables. To her surprise, Cullen was with the group, saddling his horse. “The Inquisitor asked me to come along to inspect our forces. She thought it might bolster morale.” He gave her a reassuring but rueful smile. “I won’t cling,” he said in an undertone, before retreating to the back of the party.

She tried not to think of him being so near as she nudged her horse forward. Sera was bickering with Vivienne, the two of them trailing behind the rest as Blackwall attempted to keep the peace. Solas and Dorian were hashing out some tedious academic argument, while Cole rode obliviously between them. At the front of the line, the Inquisitor was deep in conversation with Iron Bull. Her Nuggalope kept swerving to give Bull’s horse playful nips, apparently unware of how the other animal, unused to such antics, was rolling its eyes in terror.

Cassandra sighed. They were all a bunch of misfits.

Varric pulled alongside her on his pony. “So, the Commander’s come out to play,” he said, giving her his most aggravating smile.

It was impossible to tell if he was implying something, or just being his usual infuriating self. Cassandra kept her eyes fixed ahead. “He has important work to do. Not that you would know what that is.”

Varric just smirked. “Yes, it’s very important that he keep an eye on the way a certain Seeker looks in the saddle.”

Cassandra gritted her teeth. “Do not slander him, Varric.”

“It isn’t slander if everyone knows it’s true,” he said amiably. “Even you must have noticed by now. Don’t tell me you’ve never given it your consideration. Ever since the Inquisitor told me how partial you are to romance – ”

She made a disgusted noise and spurred her horse forward, though not quickly enough to escape the sound of Varric’s laughter.

\--

Their progress was slower than usual, given that they were marshalling their troops and setting up camps along the way. Cassandra was impatient to be going, and she could tell that the Inquisitor was too. Finally one afternoon, the Inquisitor said, “I’d like to lead a small group of us forward. According to the scouts, we shouldn’t encounter any danger. We’ll camp about a day’s ride ahead, just to set the pace for the others. Vivienne, Cassandra, will you be ready to leave in an hour?”

They nodded. Cassandra was inspecting her shield when she heard Vivienne say, “Might I suggest bringing Cullen along as well, Inquisitor? His knowledge of the Templars could prove useful.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather bring Sera along to insult them? Or Varric to distract them with a yarn?” The Inquisitor laughed to name the two people who vexed Vivienne and Cassandra most. “Very well. Unless Cullen has any objections.”

“None at all, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied. “No doubt our men will be glad to have me off their backs for a while.”

It wasn’t awkward in the least for the four of them to travel together, as Cassandra had feared. They covered a good distance that day and were pleased with their progress when they set up camp that night. The next morning, they rose but left the campsite in place. The plan was to scout the area and return. The Inquisitor and Cullen led, engrossed in a discussion about the conditions in the various Circles of Mages they had visited. Cassandra and Vivienne were left slightly further behind.

Thinking back on recent events, Cassandra said, “Vivienne, about you and Duke Bastien…”

“There’s no need to tiptoe, darling,”

“You were together for a long time?”

“We were, yes. And I will cherish the years we had,” Vivienne said, with a degree of composure too great, Cassandra thought, to be completely genuine.

She murmured hesitantly, “Are you…”

“More questions? My, are we curious today?” Vivienne said archly. “Seeking guidance in matters of the heart?”

Was everyone going to make suggestive comments to her from now on? “I only wish to express my sympathy, Vivienne.”

“It will be fine, dear,” Vivienne said crisply, politely signaling that that particularly line of inquiry had gone far enough.

Even if she hadn’t, they would have been interrupted as Cullen suddenly said, “Hold on,” halting in his tracks. Cassandra scanned the landscape. She saw nothing unusual, but when she listened intently she could hear the faint clanging of armored forces on the approach.

All four of them drew their weapons. “There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here,” Vivienne said in a low voice.

“Perhaps they had the same bright idea we had,” the Inquisitor said lightly, though her face was worried.

Without a word, Cassandra and Cullen moved to the front of the group, automatically adjusting their positions to guard the widest area possible. For a moment, Cassandra could spare the thought to appreciate how well they complimented each other, and how proud she was to fight at his side. Then the Red Templars appeared ahead of them, and she forced all other thoughts out of her mind. She ran forward, faster than the others could react, cutting down the nearest enemy before moving swiftly on to the next. She could hear Cullen at her back, serving as their second line of defense. Behind them, the mages cast their spells, focusing on targeting multiple foes at once.

There were at least twenty Red Templars, and at the rear, a mutant creature with arms of red lyrium, ending in dangerously sharp points. It must once have been a man, Cassandra thought with revulsion. Now it was nothing more than a senseless beast, utterly corrupted by the lyrium that was itself tainted.

The creature wasn’t the closest threat, but it was surely the biggest, and should be eliminated as soon as possible. So Cassandra thought as she rushed at the creature, striking a decisive blow with her sword. It staggered back, and Cassandra pressed her advantage, only she to find herself fighting it for longer than she would have liked. Though it took plenty of damage, it showed no signs of weakening. Something wasn’t right. Too late, Cassandra realized how far she’d been drawn away from the others. Turning quickly, out of the corner of her eye she saw another group of Red Templars close in from behind. One charged forward and bludgeoned the Inquisitor about the head. She fell. “Cullen!” Cassandra shouted, just as he yelled, “Cassandra!”

A sharp stab in her side drove the breath out of her body. She stumbled, unable to suppress a cry as a burning pain coursed through her.

But far worse was the dread that seized her heart when she realized what had happened.

* * *

 

“Cassandra!” Cullen yelled, unable to disengage from the Red Templars that were almost upon them. To his relief, he saw Vivenne cast a sizzling electric bolt at the red lyrium abomination while he dealt with the enemies in their immediate vicinity. “Nice one, darling,” she said, and he understood that she needed to talk to keep her fear at bay. “How are you doing, Inquisitor?”

She grunted. “I’m fine,” she said thickly. “Just angry. Head hurts. Eye seems a little off.”

Cullen cast his gaze about for Cassandra but didn’t see her. He felt a surge of panic, fearing the worst, but then he heard the clash of her shield on enemy armor on the other side of the battlefield. He saw that she was leading with her shield now, instead of her sword. She struck down two more enemies as he watched, tipping the numbers at last in their favor.

Seeing that the threat was almost past, Vivienne grabbed the Inquisitor by the arm. “I’ll take her back to camp first. I don’t want to take any chances with that eye, or even that hard head of hers. Do catch up, darlings, when you get a chance.”

They hurried off, and Cullen quickly disposed of the other Red Templars. Sheathing his sword, he looked around for Cassandra. He spotted her still several paces away, holding a hand to her side. When she saw him coming towards her, she straightened quickly with a grimace. “That’s the last of them,” she said. “This was a trap. I should have known better.”

“We were all caught off guard,” he said. “Though I feel the same way. We’ll have to be more careful from now on.”

She nodded grimly. “Have you seen Vivienne?”

“She took the Inquisitor back to camp.” He noticed that her movements had become slow and deliberate, now that the threat was past. “Are you injured?”

“It’s nothing worth mentioning. Vivienne can look at it when we get back. Let’s go.”

She set off at a good pace, but he could tell she was in pain. “Give me your shield,” he said after a moment, and was surprised when she actually did. As she handed it to him, he took the opportunity to place her arm around his shoulders so he could support her as they walked. She didn’t protest, which made Cullen all the more anxious. By the time they made it back to camp, she was leaning almost her whole weight on him and her breathing was ragged.

They could hear Vivienne chanting a spell in one tent, her voice strained with worry. Cullen helped Cassandra into the other, noticing as he did that her cheeks were dark red. Mutely, she unstrapped her sword and lowered herself to the ground.

He started unpacking their healing supplies. “Can you manage with your armor? I need to see the wound.”

“It can wait.” She lay down and curled up on her right side, where the injury was. Covering it.

Exasperated, Cullen said, “I know it would be better to have a woman look at it, but you’re obviously injured. We should treat it as soon as possible.”

“It can wait.”

To his alarm, she started shivering. He felt her forehead. She had a raging fever, far worse than any should have been so soon after a blow.

“Cassandra, what’s wrong?” he asked, dropping to his knees beside her. He started to undo the clasps on her armor, ignoring her attempts to fight him off. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. Just let me help you.”

She shook her head. “Stop, Cullen. Please.”

Badly worried now, Cullen carefully turned her on her back, mumbling apologies as she winced. He saw it then – a ragged hole punched in her armor, just below her ribs. He inhaled sharply. “What did this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

Desperately, he tried to recall the battle. “Was it when that first Red Templar cut you down?”

She made a last grab at his wrists. He was terrified by how her weak her grip had become. “I can’t allow you to do this.”

“Maker.” He’d finally put it together. “It’s red lyrium, isn’t it?”

 She tried to turn away, but he held her fast. “No, Cassandra. I have to remove it.”

“We don’t know what it will do,” she said, still struggling. “You could become infected. A mage might know another way.”

“There isn’t time,” he argued, fighting to keep his voice steady. “You could die.”

Her eyes flashed. “I must, if the corruption takes hold of me.”

The horror of what she meant dawned on him. “No. I won’t – ”

“Cullen, listen to me.” He’d never seen her look so afraid. “Whatever it is, it’s still lyrium. Please don’t take this risk. The Inquisition needs you.”

“I need you,” he said simply. “I love you, Cassandra.”

She looked as though she might cry, though she didn’t. “I love you too, Cullen. I… I wish the circumstances could have been different.”

“We could never have an ordinary courtship,” he reminded her, which brought a small, sad smile to her lips.

Without another moment to spare, he set about freeing her from her armor. This time she cooperated, weakly. A bloodstain wider than both of his palms bloomed on the gray long-sleeved shirt she wore underneath. He cut it open carefully, exhaling slowly as he saw the wound. It wasn’t as deep as he feared, but it was swollen and hot to the touch. Red streaks radiated out from it. He quickly set out the things he would need: bandages, an empty bowl, a canteen of water.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you anything until after the wound is clean,” he said. “A potion would only speed absorption of the toxin.”

“It’s all right,” she said, turning her face away. “I will hardly feel it.”

He doubted that, but was grateful for her bravery. Lighting a candle, he passed the knife through it to sterilize the blade. When it had cooled slightly, he made two perpendicular incisions across the wound, adjusting the bowl to catch the blood. She hissed, exhaling slowly, her sleeve between her teeth. He gave her hand a quick squeeze before lowering his mouth to the wound. His mouth filled quickly with blood, and a wave of nausea came over him. He could taste the infection, and through it, the lyrium, foully contaminated as it was. He spat into the bowl, rinsed his mouth with water, and pressed his lips to her side again. He repeated the sequence until the flow of blood slowed and he could no longer detect the acrid edge of the red lyrium in her bloodstream. Through it all, Cassandra didn’t make a sound other than her labored breathing as she fought to control the pain.

Finally Cullen pulled back to examine the wound. It was wider now, but clean. The red streaks around it had faded, and her temperature was almost normal. “That should be all of it. How do you feel?”

“Better,” she said faintly. “Are you all right?”

The nausea had intensified, and he felt himself breaking out into a cold sweat. He answered, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He touched her forehead. “The fever is breaking. Thank the Maker. Let me just clean you up.”

She yelped as he poured alcohol over the wound. He could feel her trembling as he wound the bandages around her waist, as much from exhaustion as from pain. He helped her swallow a healing potion and a drink of water, then lay her gently on clean bedding. “Sleep, Cassandra. I’ll be back soon.”

She closed her eyes, her breathing shallow but regular. With a last look at her, Cullen gathered up the materials he’d used and slipped out of the tent. When he had gone a considerable distance, he poured the blood out onto the ground and disposed of the other things. Then he doubled over and threw up.

He was left heaving long after his stomach was empty. The awful sight of Cassandra lying in so much blood would stay in his mind for a long time afterwards, he knew. He might have inflicted the wound to heal her, but it had bled and hurt like any other.

Even worse, though, was the reality that all his symptoms were back, stronger than they’d ever been before. The migraines, the palpitations, the anxiety and paranoia – nothing would make them stop.

Nothing except more lyrium. It would be so easy to take a little.

He let his knees sink to the ground as another wave of dizziness crested over him. Cassandra would be well. He wasn’t so sure about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently you should never, ever try to suck poison out from a wound. It’s probably also a bad idea to try anything of the other dubious medical practices in this chapter, unless you have Cullen’s skills. (:
> 
> “You can’t stop the rain, but you can fix the hole in your roof” is an homage to the excellent adage in Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech: “You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair,” which seems to derive from an earlier quote by Martin Luther.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you could spare a moment to comment, I’d love to hear what you think!


	6. Defenseless Utterly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra recuperates, fears the consequences for Cullen; the advisors debate what to do about the Hero of Ferelden; Cullen receives a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! It means the world to me!

“My harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me,          

    And smitten me to my knee;          

  I am defenceless utterly.      

  I slept, methinks, and woke,     

And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

Cassandra came to slowly. Seeing Cullen enter the tent, she sat up, wincing at the tightness around her ribs. “Cullen. How do you feel?”

He looked pale, disheveled, ill. “You first,” he said.

“I will make a good recovery.” Gingerly, she touched her side. “This is healing well. You did a remarkable job. Thank you.”

“You slept for almost a day. You looked like you needed it.” He shifted. “Vivienne has been attending to the Inquisitor this whole time, but she’s gotten her back on her feet.”

“That was my fault. I should have defended them, as you were doing.”

“There were plenty of things all of us should have done differently.” He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “But you do often charge forward without waiting for support. It puts you in a vulnerable position. I know you’re not fragile, but you’re not indestructible either.”

She scowled. But after a moment, she said, “I suppose you have a point. I appreciate the correction.” She looked closely at him. “How are you feeling? Did…”

“I haven’t turned into a Red Templar so far,” he said, with a tired smile. “I think I would know by now if that were going to happen. But it was more than I’ve been exposed to. I suspect the habit will be harder to break than before.” He sighed. “I have been taking more lyrium, just to keep the symptoms under control. I must be able to work.”

“But you still intend to break it?”

“I would like to,” he said quietly. “I’m no longer sure if I can.”

“I believe the Maker never gives us trials we are unable to overcome, with His help,” Cassandra said sincerely, but her words seemed hollow to her ears.

Cullen rubbed his temples. After a moment, he said, “Cassandra, if I no longer tried to break free of this, would you still accept me?”

Yes, she wanted to tell him. She loved him and would love him still, whether he won this bout or not. If they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, there would only be others to come. For Cassandra, love that could be dissuaded was no love at all.

Yet she knew that in this moment, he needed her to speak with his highest interests in mind. She must lend him true strength and encouragement – not flimsy comfort, nor anything less than what he needed.

Touching his face, she said, “I gave my heart to the man who chooses to fight. Who refuses to give up. Who saved my life, even when the cost to himself may have been too great.”

“That’s different,” he said hoarsely. “I would never forgiven myself, if there was even the slightest chance…”

“While we still yet live, there is always a chance,” she said tenderly. “I believe in you. I know you can overcome this.”

She kissed him lightly on the lips, and he squeezed her hand. Neither of them had the strength for more. They sat back to back in the tent, leaning on each other for support. Cassandra was lost in her thoughts, wondering if he felt the same.

* * *

 

Over the next few days, they cleared the Arbor Wilds of the Red Templars. All of them took greater care around the red lyrium abominations, and Cullen was pleased to find afterwards that their troops’ casualties were less severe than he’d expected. Back at Skyhold, he began implementing more defensive styles of training, teaching their forces to make better use of their shields. Some grumbled at the change, but he didn’t mind. That they lived to protest was itself a victory.

Almost as soon as they returned, it seemed, Cassandra was off again, riding out with the Inquisitor to investigate missing soldiers in the Fallow Mire. Before she left, Cullen promised her he’d try to cut back on lyrium again. He did, but slowly and excruciatingly. The withdrawal symptoms were much worse this time, and progress slower than before. But he drew strength thinking of her. He knew he was beyond fortunate to have found a woman who wanted – not just him, but the best man he could be.

He made a greater effort when she was close to returning, decreasing the dosage drastically. On the first morning when he took none at all, he was in his office when a soldier brought word that the Inquisitor’s party was back, and wanted to see him in the War Room. He hurried over, and his heart turned over when he saw Cassandra, bearing a few extra scratches and bruises but otherwise none the worse for wear. The Inquisitor briefed the advisors on the situation in the Fallow Mires, and discussed what steps they planned to take next.

“There is one more matter, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, just when Cullen thought they must be finished. He suppressed a sigh of annoyance at himself. It wouldn’t do to be this inattentive in his work.

“Go on.”

“At your command, I attempted to make contact with the Hero of Ferelden.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, intrigued. The man was a true hero to him. He himself had never met the man, but he knew several people who had encountered him or joined him in battle, and he envied them.

The Inquisitor said glumly, “I take it that your agents were unable to locate him.”

“Not quite. He did not wish to meet, but he sent them a message.” Leliana placed a folded piece of parchment on the table. Cullen couldn’t help leaning forward slightly, along with everyone else in the room. “To summarize,” Leliana said, noticing, “He is busy searching for a way to prevent the Calling. He does not wish that information to be known until he succeeds. It appears that at present, he has no wish to be involved with the Inquisition.”

The Inquisitor frowned. “Why not spread news of his search? We could assist him. Others might be interested as well.”

“I regret that I know nothing of his motives,” Leliana replied.

Cullen said, “Hawke was unwilling to aid us until Varric sent for her. Would it be worth sending him a personal appeal? Leliana, didn’t you fight alongside him during the Fifth Blight?”

“We traveled together, yes. But if he turned away my agents, he will not listen to me.”

Josephine spoke up. “What Alistair and Morrigan? They were close to him as well.”

Cassandra folded her arms. “We have spent enough time and resources pursuing this man. If he does not want to be part of our efforts, I see no point in continuing.”

“The Hero of Ferelden would be a powerful ally,” Cullen argued. “He could just the person to help us unite the Grey Wardens.”

“Indeed,” Josephine said, nodding. “Perhaps one of them could send him a gift on our behalf?”

“I still disagree,” Cassandra said stubbornly. “He knows where we are. He will approach us if he changes his mind, and not a moment before.”

“Of the two, Alistair knew him better,” Leliana said coolly. “I could ask him to compose a letter. I highly doubt that the Hero of Ferelden will be persuaded, but we stand to lose very little by trying.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “We’ll go with Leliana’s suggestion. Talk to Alistair. Let me know if any new developments arise.”

She left, talking with Josephine about Halamshiral. As Leliana gathered up her things, including the Warden’s letter, Cullen paused by her. “I’m sorry, Leliana. I didn’t mean to rub salt in a wound. It must feel terrible for a friend to cut you off.”

Leliana regarded him icily. “Do I seem sad?”

“No,” he admitted. “But anyone would be.”

“I did not get to where I am by being just anyone,” she replied. “Don’t apologize when you shouldn’t, Cullen. Good day.”

She swept out, and Cullen sighed. “I always seem to rub her the wrong way.”

“You would hardly be the first to think so,” Cassandra said, sounding amused. “Don’t take it personally.”

He felt her arms encircle his waist, shivered as her body leaned into his. “I missed you,” she murmured.

“I missed you too,” he answered. Without another word, he spun around and kissed her, desperate to feel her close again. He moved so that her back was pressed up against the wall, then paused, unsure of whether he was hurting her. In response, she pulled him roughly against her, reaching lower to give him a playful squeeze that made him gasp. “Don’t stop, Cullen, please,” she whispered. Hearing her say his name with so much longing sent him into a frenzy, one that she was more than eager to reciprocate. She dragged her nails down his back, her moans and whimpers becoming more frantic as he poured everything, all his anguish and the torment of the past few weeks, into adoring her. He ground his hips against hers, and they both gasped at the contact. He moved again, groaning as he felt himself slipping right to the edge of conscious control.

“Cassandra?”

Both of them froze. It was Josephine’s voice, coming towards them from the Great Hall. Cassandra tensed, and he knew there was no way they could continue. With great effort, he stepped back, though he didn’t release her from his gaze. The look she gave him back was all desire. “Soon,” she whispered.

His pulse jumped. “Tonight?”

She bit her lip. “Not tonight. I – can’t, tonight. But soon?”

He nodded, suppressing a groan. “Sooner would be better,” he said, but he mustered up a smile for her, which she returned.

“Have you been ill?” she asked. “You’re thinner.”

“I didn’t take any lyrium today. For the first time since before.”

She smiled at him with pride, though she still looked anxious.

“I almost forgot. This is for you,” she said, closing his hand over a sheaf of folded pages. With a last kiss, she turned just as Josephine came through the door, beaming as though she were setting foot in a soiree.

“There you are, Cassandra,” Josephine said brightly. “Come quickly! We’re going to surprise Leliana. The Inquisitor caught her another nug!”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Maker take me,” she muttered, following after her.

* * *

 

_Dear Cullen,_

_You are always on my mind. But my thoughts avail you little. I long to be of more help._

_Over the course of my travels, I have been researching figures who claim to have overcome their addiction to lyrium. Many are tall tales, but there is one account of some credibility._

_In 4:7 Dragon, a Fereldan Templar was expelled from the Order for abusing lyrium, taking far more than he ought. Years later, he was taken in by an elderly couple who led him out of his darkness and back to the Maker._

_The stories say that he succeeded in breaking free of lyrium completely, and I am convinced that they are true. His name is lost to us, probably suppressed by the members of his Order. But I managed to track down a poem that is attributed to him, hidden in the Chantry in the Fallow Mire._

_I know it is not much, but_

Her letter stopped there. He guessed she’d been interrupted. He reread it for what felt like the thousandth time later that day, no closer to guessing what else she would have written. No closer to her.

He’d managed to get through the hours when he had his work to occupy him. But now that night had fallen, and it was the time when she usually came to see him, he was restless, miserable. _Not tonight,_ she’d said, yet he’d hoped to see her anyway, not only in his mind’s eye. When he thought of the way she’d looked at him, the noises he’d drawn from her lips, the intoxicating heat when their bodies touched… It was torture to still be denied the pleasure of making her his.

Yet it was sickening to think of merely using her that way – like a thing to be possessed, a fix for his infirmities, a distraction from very weakness. He lay down, trying to sleep, but couldn’t. He paced his office, snatching glances at the poem Cassandra had copied for him in a sharp, rushed hand. She’d scrawled, across the top:

_In his vices and insecurities, he tells of running from the Maker. But the Maker himself enters in the figure of a Mabari, powerful to pursue._

He read the beginning:

_I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;_

_I fled Him, down the arches of the years;_

_I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways_

_Of my own mind..._

His head pounded.

_And in the mist of tears_

_I hid from Him, and under running laughter._

_Up vistaed hopes I sped;_

_And shot, precipitated,_

_Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,_

_From those strong Feet that followed, followed after._

_But with unhurrying chase,_

_And unperturbèd pace,_

_Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,_

_They beat—and a Voice beat_

_More instant than the Feet—_

_‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’_

Dizzy, nervous, all day he hadn’t been able to concentrate long enough to read the whole poem through. Summoning up his strength, he made one more attempt:

        _I pleaded, outlaw-wise,_

_By many a hearted casement, curtained red,_

_Trellised with intertwining charities;_

_(For, though I knew His love Who followèd,_

_Yet was I sore adread_

_Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside)..._

It was hopeless. He was about to throw down the pages in disgust when he noticed that Cassandra had written a personal note at the end.

_Sometimes adversity is meant to teach us to depend on forces greater than ourselves, of the kind that remain persistent even when we are wayward, merciful even when we are unworthy, strong even when we are weak._

Cullen clutched at his head. Everything was snarled – his desire for her, their duties and responsibilities, their struggles to serve the Maker, and most of all, the devastating effects of the lyrium withdrawal. He gasped, seeing flashes jump across his vision. His headache intensified, until it felt like a burning spike had been driven between his eyes. The thought crossed his mind to climb up to the battlements and throw himself off, just to end the agony.

Then just as quickly as they’d arrived, the symptoms subsided. But he couldn’t stop shaking, delirious with fear. He hadn’t experienced such a swing in his emotions before. He no longer trusted in himself. If he experienced another attack, which was likely, it would probably be even worse.

In some ways, Cassandra was the last person he should approach. She shouldn’t see him like this, shouldn’t have to bear such an unequal burden. But she’d said it herself – he’d placed himself under her charge. No one else could help him now.

With that thought, he stumbled out into the night, knowing he couldn’t stop until he found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Cassandra gives him is “The Hound of Heaven” by Francis Thompson, full text available online. If you squint, a hound looks like a mabari. (You have to really squint, though. (:) The story of the unnamed Templar is based on Thompson’s own life and addiction to opium.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you could spare a moment to comment, I’d love to hear what you think!


	7. Whom Thou Seekest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine play with nugs in their pajamas; Cullen bursts in, suffers from lyrium withdrawal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some intense fluff. I couldn’t resist putting in a fun scene amidst all the misery!
> 
> Also, oh snap, I just realized that Seekers of Truth are resistant to red lyrium. Oops. Pretend there were some extra ultra bad lyrium complications back in Chapter Five…

“Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,                 

  I am He Whom thou seekest! 

Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.”

_–_ Francis Thompson, _“The Hound of Heaven”_

 

It was maddening to be apart from Cullen when she was finally so close to him again. The time they’d stolen together in the War Room – she should scandalized by that, but she wasn’t, not when she’d played it out in her mind so many times before – had been far too brief, and she hadn’t been able to get away for a minute afterwards.

Her thoughts drifted back to him there, as they had all day. The smile he couldn’t conceal when he walked in and saw her. Other things he couldn’t conceal, not when he had pressed her up against the wall, panting his name…

And one uneasy thought – a stay against complete surrender – the way his hands had seem to linger on her side where she bore the scars from the lyrium abomination, as though to remind her. As if she didn’t think about it every time she thought of him, the peril he’d cast himself back into, for her sake. Perhaps she’d only imagined it – he had been thrillingly attentive to many other things too, after all – but the worry continued to plague her, returning each time she imagined herself in his arms.

If she couldn’t have that, she would have at least liked to be asleep in her own bed. She’d been up at dawn to make the journey back to Skyhold. But her monthly meeting with Leliana and Josephine in the rookery was scheduled for that night, and the other two adamantly refused to move the date.

At the beginning, Leliana had made the three of them take AN OATH – that they would consider the rookery meetings as critical as any of the Inquisition’s other activities, and that they would _tell no one else_ about them. They had lit candles and _held hands_ _and_ _incanted_ , like girls playing Chantry. (It was the ultimate product of Leliana’s distrust of others, fondness for ceremony, and love of ALL THINGS COVERT.) Cassandra had gone along with it to humor the other two, realizing only afterwards what kind of _completely top secret girl obligations_ she’d gotten herself into.

Still, Cassandra thought with a sigh, Leliana was her best friend. Not the one she ever thought she’d have, but probably the one she needed, PRAISE THE MAKER AND HIS INFINITE WISDOM. She supposed she owed Leliana some QUALITY TIME.

But did it have to be this intolerable? All they ever did was chatter endlessly while passing around trays of chocolate and candied fruit, gifts for the Inquisition that the Inquisitor had, in turn, passed on to her ambassador as a token of her thanks. Everything was the Great Game this, the Great Game that. All of Josephine’s Antivan brandy wouldn’t have been enough for Cassandra to drown it out.

It was the time when the other two could be most themselves, while Cassandra always felt out of her depth. She could never understand the rules of these female gatherings. Why did they have to talk so much about their hair, when the three of them never did anything differently? Why did Leliana insist that they all wear pajamas? The other two were in nightgowns, Leliana’s lilac this month, Josephine’s pastel pink. And why did there have to be nugs? There was so much fuss over them – Schmooples II, Boulette, and the newly christened Pèlerine. Cassandra could only tell apart by the different colored ribbons around their necks.

“They’re so cute,” Josephine cooed. “And now we can have one each!”

“Oh, look, he’s snuffling me!” Leliana exclaimed for the millionth time (what did nugs ever do _but_ snuffle?), feeding one of them a nug treat. “Snuffle, snuffle!”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in spite of herself. _Maker have mercy,_ she thought, throwing her drink back.

As if in answer, the door at the base of the tower creaked open. Footsteps echoed briskly up the stairs. “I thought I told you to the lock the door, Cassandra,” Leliana said sharply.

“It must have slipped my mind,” Cassandra deadpanned. In fact she never locked the door, always hoping that they’d be interrupted, though no one had come to her rescue until now.

Josephine started to pack their things, but Leliana stopped her, narrowing her eyes. “It’s all right, Josie. Let’s see what Cullen wants.”

At the mention of his name, Cassandra froze. There was no place to hide, and no escape. “Leliana?” Cullen called, as he rounded the corner. “Do you know where I could find Seeker Cassandra?”

His eyes fell on the sight of his three fellow advisors sitting on the floor in their nightclothes surrounded by an impressive spread of confectionary, half-empty liquor bottles, and nugs wearing satin bows.

“I beg your pardon,” he stammered, turning bright red. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“Yes, can’t you see we are having an important meeting,” Leliana said sternly.

Josephine raised a chocolate to her lips and took a slow bite. “Ooh, cherry.”

Cassandra said nothing, avoiding his eyes. At least Cullen didn’t seem unwell, though he looked as though he might die of embarrassment.

Leliana continued, “Is it an urgent matter? Surely it can wait until the morning.”

“Yes, yes, it can,” Cullen said indistinctly. “Enjoy your evening. Excuse me.”

He tore down the stairs. When the door slammed shut, Leliana and Josephine burst into giggles. “Cassandra, how you blush!” Josephine said, gleeful.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Cassandra demanded, feeling her face turn hotter. “When we turned him away like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cassandra,” Josephine said, attempting to look solemn. “You heard him. It’s not an urgent matter. Probably he just wanted to give you an update on troop movements or Fallow Mire resources…” She dissolved into giggles again.

Cassandra tried to regain her composure. “Enough. Let us discuss something else.”

“Very well,” Leliana said. She turned to Josephine. “I was thinking it’s good that we have our little meetings. If you and I hadn’t been here, Cullen might have done some things to Cassandra that would have done far more than make her blush.”

Cassandra’s jaw dropped. Leliana went on breezily, “She knows what I’m talking about. She’s imagined them herself. She’s thinking about them right now.”

“Shocking,” Josephine said.

“You see, she can be terribly coy when she wants.” Leliana smirked. “As for poor Cullen... He’s looked a little ill as of late. His self-control has been tested a great deal since he joined us, has it not?”

There it was, the double edge. Cassandra was certain Leliana knew about Cullen’s decision to go off lyrium, and that Leliana would not approve of him taking such a risk. She had nothing yet – there was nothing, after all – but she was evidently on the lookout for anything incriminating. Cassandra also suspected that the Inquisitor would be unsympathetic, given her recent encounters with Templars who had gone rogue, and her dependence on Cullen to lead her forces. She might even order him to go back to taking lyrium, so as to avoid jeopardizing the Inquisition.

But speaking plainly wouldn’t be playing be the game, would it?

“Cullen would never allow anything to interfere with his duties,” Cassandra said.

“Oh, we have all been guilty of distraction now and then,” Leliana said archly. “Strong emotions are like a blinding light. Anyone’s judgment would be impaired.”

“Then I am glad there will be no blinding lights for me tonight,” Cassandra said dryly. “I plan on retiring to my room after this for a good night’s rest.”

All day, she’d been determined to go see Cullen, but she realized as she spoke that perhaps that was a good idea after all. It was late, they were drinking, she was tired. And what good could be come out of sneaking around past midnight like a thief?

At some unspoken signal between Leliana and Josephine, the conversation finally turned to other topics. Having resolved to call an end to the night after their gathering, Cassandra finally found herself able to relax. Josephine and Leliana told good stories, and she had to admit that petting the nugs made her feel calm and contented. It was nothing but her own bad temper, she thought, that had kept her from appreciating her friends earlier, and the effort they put into making their limited time together special.

When the group finally dispersed and Cassandra walked alone through the courtyard, she glanced up at Cullen’s tower. He might even still be awake, despite the lateness of the hour. But mentally she shook herself and continued in the direction of her quarters.

As she entered the smithy, she tripped and almost fell across the threshold. Andraste give her grace. If she was that drunk, it had certainly been the right decision to return to her own room. She shrugged her coat off, opened her door, and stopped dead in her tracks.

Cullen was sitting at her desk, studying the cover of _Swords and Shields._

* * *

 

“Cullen?”

He started, not having heard her come in. Maker, but even at this awful juncture, he couldn’t help but be floored at how stunning she was. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was carrying her coat over her arm, still only wearing the white chemise and shorts she’d had on earlier.

In an attempt to cover his reaction, he held up the book. “The drawing on the cover looks remarkably like the Guard-Captain at Kirkwall. So this is one of Varric’s books?”

“You’ve been reading it, then?” she stammered.

He smiled wanly. “Not yet. Is it good?”

“It’s terrible,” she said shortly. “I only acquired it for research purposes.”

She swayed a little as she reached up to hang her coat. When she turned, he saw that the back of her top was cut lower still, exposing her shoulder blades and the lean muscles of her back. What little fabric there was was all fine white lace. He swallowed hard, glad that he hadn’t seen it in front of Leliana and Josephine back in the rookery.

She sat down on the bed, across from him. “Cullen, why did you come here tonight?” she asked softly.

_Not tonight,_ she’d said earlier, but now she was back in her room and alone with him and her expression was hopeful…  

But her words reminded him of the grim purpose of his visit. Pulling himself together, he told her about the events of the last few hours, and she listened with growing solemnity. “Those mood swings are frightening,” she said. “They do normally accompany lyrium withdrawal, but I had hoped you would not experience them.”

“It could get worse,” he said numbly. “I fear I’m not myself. There were accounts of that, too. Templars who lost their minds. Perhaps it’s time for you to remove me from my duties.”

“I will do no such thing,” she said firmly. “These episodes may be trying, but they will pass. Take a day. I can cover for you tomorrow. We will assess the situation again then.”

He knew in his heart that she was right. Still, she didn’t know what it was like. “I don’t know if I can get through this,” he said weakly.

“You can and you must,” she said, adding with no less conviction, “You will.”

He had no right to be angry at her, he thought, leaning in to kiss her. He could taste the wine on her lips, and he realized as she reached fumblingly for him that she was much further gone than she’d let on… It wasn’t the right time. With effort, he pulled away and asked, “Is it all right if I spend the night here? I’ll sleep on the floor.”

She sighed, seeing the bedroll he’d brought. “You may stay. But take the bed.”

He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Those are the terms.”

Before he climbed into bed, he spread his bedroll on the floor and waited until she’d settled in for the night. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Neither did I,” she said sleepily, rolling onto her side.

He should have been exhausted himself, but instead he felt strangely alert. Insomnia occasionally plagued him, but this felt different – not mere sleeplessness, but restless energy. He listened to Cassandra’s slow breathing while he lay in her bed far from sleep, wondering how she could be so steadfast, so good.

Doubt started to feed at him. It became harder and harder to separate what he feared from what he really thought.

_If I’m not who I thought I was, how can she be who she thinks she is?_

_Wouldn’t you like to know?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enigmaticagentscully pointed out in “Where the Heart Is” that Cassandra’s room actually doesn’t even have a door, just a bedroll and a stack of books on a stool. I booted up the game just to prove this to myself and that is the sad, sad truth. No wonder she stands outside stabbing a dummy all day.
> 
> The prose style around Leliana’s oath is an homage to Foxfire by Joyce Carol Oates. Legs Sadovky and Leliana TOGETHER would _rule all the worlds._
> 
> “Praise the Maker and His infinite wisdom” might be my favorite Cassandra line. It’s too bad she only says it when she really hates you. You can YouTube it if your Inquisitor, like mine, was total bffers with her and worked hard to keep her happy!
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you could spare a moment to comment, I’d love to hear what you think!


	8. Shapers of Mine Own Moods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra copes with a darker side of Cullen’s addiction, reveals her and Leliana’s scandalous Wintersend tradition; Cullen, coped with, reads Cassandra poetry.

“ _I_ knew all the swift importings        

  On the wilful face of skies;  

  I knew how the clouds arise

  Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings;  

    All that’s born or dies              

  Rose and drooped with; made them shapers           

Of mine own moods, or wailful or divine;    

  With them joyed and was bereaven.”

_–_ Francis Thompson, _“The Hound of Heaven”_

 

When she awoke in the blue light of early morning, it took her a moment to remember why she was sleeping on the floor in her own room. She turned and saw Cullen sitting on the edge of her bed, his posture rigid.

Getting up to sit beside him, she asked, “Did you sleep?”

“Sleep would be too good for me.”

He held his head in his hands so tightly that his arms trembled from the strain.

“What am I, Cassandra? I’m worse than nothing. A Commander who can’t do his work. A failed Templar. As dependent on their drug as I ever was.”

“That is not true,” Cassandra said, dismayed. “You have led our troops with wisdom and bravery. You left the Templars because they had lost their way. With each day you come farther in your fight against the lyrium.”

He looked up at her with sudden ferocity. “You always seem so sure of yourself. How? Hasn’t it occurred to you that your life, too, has been one falsehood after another? Right Hand of the Divine? Justinia is dead. Seeker of Truth? The Order has disappeared. A weakness for me?” He laughed bitterly. “You were right about that. How could this be anything but weakness?”

“No, Cullen. You know that was never what I meant.”

“Precisely,” he said. “No? Like when you told not to take the red lyrium from your side? You say these things, Cassandra, but you don’t really mean them.”

She paled, feeling the blow strike true.

“Seeker,” he spat. Convulsions seized him, and he gave a strangled cry, eyes rolling wildly back into his head. When he could speak again, he gasped, “Have mercy and set the lyrium in my blood on fire, if you still can. It’s there for you. You’ve done worse to me already.”

His words came fast, muddied together. “You’re considering it. I can tell. See how it feels, when you become the demon someone suspects you are? I mean you, Cassandra. I may fear my best is the lie, but you fear my worst is what’s true. No matter what you say.”

She backed slowly away, wondering if she would have to lock him in. Was he so far beyond reason?

“Cullen, listen to me,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I know you cannot help the way you feel right now. But it’s the effects of the lyrium. It will pass. Cullen,” she pleaded, as he writhed at the mention of the word. His kit was in his room, not here, she remembered, though the thought brought her little assurance.

“Give me,” he choked out. _Lyrium._ At the last moment, he swallowed down the word. He seemed to weaken before her eyes. “Give me something, Cassandra. Please. Give me something. You don’t know what it’s like. The ache. The emptiness. Help me.”

He grabbed her wrist with terrifying strength and yanked her towards him. She struggled as he tried to hold her still, clawing at her neck and drawing blood. In the confusion of blows, she had to kick him hard in the stomach before she could break free. As frightened as she was, she didn’t look away from him. But it wouldn’t help either of them to stay any longer. Blindly she took down her coat and felt for the door. “You will be yourself again when this passes. I will return soon.”

“Cassandra, don’t leave. I need you. Please.” His eyes were frantic. “You’re only lying to yourself when you pull away. Let me prove it to you. It’s what we both want. One nail to drive out another.”

“That is one way,” she said. “But then you would never be whole.” She bit her lip. “One hour,” she told him, closing the door behind her.

Fortunately it was the day of rest, and the smithy was empty. She pulled her coat around tightly herself, glancing at the dry ashes in the unlit fireplace. There was some blood on her clothes, and her neck stung, but that was the least of her anguish. Now that she was alone, her emotions started catching up to her. He’d never been that way before – never would be in his right mind, she told herself. But then there was the way he’d looked at her with so much malice, and insight. There had been some truth to his words. She’d known from the start that he wouldn’t be suffering like this if she hadn’t been infected by the red lyrium. If she hadn’t let him see…

After less than an hour, she went back upstairs and knocked on her door. Hearing no answer, she opened it slowly. He lay in the bed, tossing fitfully, but apparently asleep. Relieved that nothing worse had happened, she changed quickly, grateful to be back in her usual clothes. As she turned to leave, she saw a worn collection of folded pages on the floor. It was the poem she’d copied for him.

How naïve to think a poem could be of any use to him. But she propped it up on her table anyway, along with a pitcher of water and a packet of elfroot for the pain.

* * *

 

She tried her best to proceed with her day’s duties as though nothing were out of the ordinary. She was especially uneasy in Cullen’s office, where she kept expecting to see him at any moment. The one place where she wanted to be less was her own room, yet she felt she should check up on Cullen, for fear that he’d injure himself or worse. More than once, she was halfway to the rookery to ask Leliana to accompany her, only to stop herself for dread of the conversation that would follow. In the end, she made herself stop by alone. To her relief, he was asleep, and seemed to each subsequent time she entered, though he seemed to have woken up in between to finish the soup she left out for him.

He sat up groggily when she returned again late that night.

“Maker,” he said hoarsely. “Cassandra?”

“Cullen.” She drew up her chair and sat at his bedside, relieved that he was back in his right mind, but saddened by his demeanor.

“I… I knew…”

“You were not yourself. I was aware of that.”

He shook his head. “I knew what I was doing. I should have been able to control myself.”

“You were not yourself,” she said again, not sure if she believed it, but unable to find other words for something she still didn’t understand. “And you were suffering.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.”

“I hit you.” His voice cracked. “Don’t excuse that.”

“I do not,” she said sharply.

After a moment, she said, “But I have wronged you as well. I exposed you to lyrium again. Now you are the one having to bear the consequences.”

He looked stricken. “Cassandra, I never meant to blame you for that. Never. It wasn’t your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

She bit her lip. “I was the direct cause of this, Cullen.”

“No. I made my own choice.” He looked at her with complete love in his eyes. “I never regretted it.”

* * *

 

He was surprised when she grasped his hand, squeezing tightly. Her pulse was quick – not, he hoped, from fear. He squeezed back, more gently.

“Will you forgive me?” Cassandra said at last. “For leaving you alone this morning?”

He was startled. “There’s nothing to forgive. I could have done worse to you had you stayed...”

“You put yourself in danger to stay with me when I needed you the most,” she said. “Will you forgive me, also, for suspecting you of harboring ill will when you had none? I acted out of fear and pride and self-righteousness. I should not have doubted you.”

“Cassandra,” he protested, but she cut him off.

“My conscience counts it as a trespass against you. Please, Cullen. Forgive me.”

“Then of course I forgive you. But Cassandra, I have committed so much worse, both intentionally and otherwise. The scales hang so unbalanced between us. I’m ashamed to ask for your forgiveness.”

“But you must allow me to grant it,” she murmured. “The Maker’s love covers a multitude of sins. In that regard, He does not judge the magnitude of the transgression, or the tangled motives of the heart. He does not calculate.”

She gave him a small smile. “In the name of a greater love than ours, the scales are restored to balance, and we need not look at them again.”

He smiled back. “I do love you.”

“And I love you,” she said warmly.

They sat together in an untroubled silence that both of them were content to sustain. For the Maker takes away our shame and grants complete forgiveness, withholding nothing. Grace is more than justice, and far more than what we deserve, yet we could live no other way. We could not love one other any other way.

* * *

 

Some time later, Cassandra said, “There is something else I wanted to tell you. I was grateful to hear you voice your doubts about the Seekers, if those were truly your feelings. I, too, fear the Order has lost its way, and it is a relief to tell you so. The Inquisitor is looking into the whereabouts of Lord Seeker Lucius, when he is found, I will have to decide what next steps to take. I would appreciate you telling me honestly what you think, no matter how I might react. I hope we can always be honest with each other.”

“I would like that,” he said.

She nodded. Absently, she touched her neck. “Oh, Cassandra,” he said, remembering. “What have I done?”

“Nothing that won’t heal. Though you may have ruined an elaborate piece of clothing.” She made a disgusted noise. “It was silly and impractical anyway.”

“But you looked so beautiful in it,” he said honestly. She blushed. “I wouldn’t have expected you to own something like that.”

She scowled. “It was a Wintersend gift from Leliana.”

Cullen blinked. “From Leliana?”

“Yes. It is an annual tradition of ours. Started by Divine Justinia, actually. It does not do for the Divine and her closest associates to be seen with opulent gifts. So we only gave each other underthings.”

“You have more?” he blurted out.

“Plenty,” she said, with a straight face. “Will that be a problem?”

“Only if I never get to see them,” he said, and she smiled.

“Would you hold me?” she asked suddenly. “Just for a little while?”

“You’re not afraid I’d hurt you?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course not. I’d hurt you first,” she replied. Then she added, gently, “I want to be close to you again. You.” She bit her lip. “Unless you would prefer me to give you space. I should not have presumed…”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve wanted to hold you for a very long time.”

He made room for her on the bed, and she cuddled up next to him. When they’d settled in together, he asked, “Would you like to hear something I discovered today?”

“Please,” she said, resting against his chest.

“What can I give thee back,” he began, and she turned in surprise. “I looked through some of your other books. I hope that’s all right.”

“I am glad they made you well.”

“It was the thought of you that did that.”

That brought a smile to her lips. “Enough laudation,” she said, trying to sound cross. “Go on. I won’t interrupt you again.”

He took a deep breath and recited,

“What can I give thee back, O liberal   
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold   
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,   
And laid them on the outside of the wall   
For such as I to take or leave withal,   
In unexpected largesse? am I cold,   
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold   
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?   
Not so; not cold, – but very poor instead.   
The Maker knows. For frequent tears have run   
The colors from my life, and left so dead   
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done   
To give the same as pillow to thy head.   
Go farther! let it serve to trample on.”

As he concluded, he felt a hot tear splash onto his shirt. “Cassandra, are you crying?” he asked, alarmed.

She sniffled. “It’s not the poem. I am thinking of all you have suffered.”

“Don’t,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s nothing next to the happiness you’ve brought me.”

Another tear fell. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’ll never recite another poem again.” She stiffened. “Clearly, that was awful. So awful that mabaris howled and nugs pulled at their ears.”

“Stop it. All right, I lied. It’s the poem too.” She glared at him. “Don’t laugh. It’s one of my favorites. Only I should be the one reciting it to you.”

“You can’t really think that,” he said, shocked.

“I do,” she said quietly. “You saved my life at a terrible cost to yourself. You showed me a greater love than I ever would have imagined. I love you, Cullen.”

“I love you too, Cassandra.” He felt it was the least he could do to add, “Let me sleep on the floor tonight.”

Cassandra smiled. By the following night, it became something of a running joke between them. Until the third, when she said seriously, “Only if you’d rather not stay here with me.”

His breath caught in his throat. She leaned over to blow out the lamp, and he turned so he could spoon her from behind. He put his arm around her waist, resting it against the curve of her hip, and she sighed contentedly. Another proverb occurred to him, a better one. _Fractures well cured make us more strong._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra references 1 Peter 4:8.  
> Cullen recites Sonnet IX by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Sonnets from the Portuguese. I edited one line from “Ask God who knows.” “Fractures well cured make us more strong” is the last line of “Repentance” by George Herbert.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this, guys! This was a really tough chapter to write, and I hope I handled it okay. Happier times are at hand!


	9. All Which I Took From Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra receives a difficult proposal from Cullen; Cullen finds many mysterious boxes in her room.

“All which I took from thee I did but take,  

  Not for thy harms,   

But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

Cassandra awoke in the middle of the night when she felt Cullen hyperventilating. A week had passed since his worst day, and while he better than he was then, he was still far from a complete recovery. “Hush, it’s all right,” she said firmly. “I’m here, Cullen. Hush.” She pressed her hand to his chest, waiting until his pulse evened out and his breathing slowed.

Laying down beside him again, she held his hand against her own breast, palm over her heart. He jolted back. “Sweet Andraste, Cassandra,” he gasped.

“Hush,” she said again, shutting her eyes. “There is nothing to get excited about.”

* * *

 

He didn’t know how he’d managed to fall asleep, but Cullen woke up the next morning, rested and sound. His hand had fallen by Cassandra’s side. He tensed when he felt her lean ever so slightly forward into his touch.

“You are awake,” she said. She turned to face him, studying his face. He gazed into her eyes, their enigmatic shade somewhere between brown and gold and gray, filled with light. They could have captivated him forever, had he not other things on his mind.

“Am I? I could only be dreaming this,” he said, reaching down to cup one breast in his hand. He hadn’t expected her to gasp, arching her back to press more firmly into his palm. He brushed his thumb over her and was rewarded with a low moan.

“You weren’t this forthcoming before,” he stammered, amazed.

“I was trying to _sleep_ ,” she said, as though that should have been obvious. Which, he supposed, it was. “Besides, I’ve had some time to think about –”

Before she could finish her sentence he cut her off, capturing her lips in a kiss heavy with yearning. Her tongue met his with a fervor that only increased his own. Her knuckles grazed his sides as she rolled up his shirt, attempting to tug it up over his arms. He shifted to help her until he dimly remembered the thought he’d been turning over. “Cassandra, wait,” he said quickly.

She stopped at once, her features filled with worry. “What is it? Is this…”

“It’s not that,” he said quickly. “Maker, no, this is… this is exactly what I’ve wanted for so long. Since the day you walked into my office at Kirkwall,” he added, and her face, already flushed, turned a shade darker. “I’ve dreamt of this every night, Cassandra. I want you so much.”

He swallowed. “But I want to do right by you. I shouldn’t ask you to give yourself fully to me until I can promise the same to you. I want to be free of the lyrium addiction. Beholden to nothing else. Completely yours.”

The compassion in her eyes almost melted his resolve. “Of course,” she whispered. “I understand. I am happy you have proposed this, actually. I am glad to be able to support you.” She pulled back slightly and gave him a half-smile. “Even if I am also very frustrated at you right now.”

“I won’t take any more lyrium from going forward,” he promised her. “Not a drop. It’s had a hold on me for long enough.”

“But the effects of withdrawing all at once…”

“I can bear them. I should have heeded your counsel and done it this way from the start.”

She nodded. “It will be quicker. It will still take about a month, according to all accounts. But we can be strong for each other. I know we can.”

“A month. Less four days, now.”

She made a disgusted noise. “When I agreed to watch you, I had no idea how difficult it would be.” She gave him a rueful look. “I suppose it’s just as well that I’m to ride out with the Inquisitor again soon. Those other things that happen sometimes…”

* * *

 

After she left, Cullen washed her white chemise and hung it neatly to dry on the back of a chair. She thanked him later when she passed him in the Great Hall. “You got the stain out. How did you manage that?”

He shrugged modestly, one hand on the back of his neck. “It was good to have something to do.”

(When he’d searched her room for it, he’d come across a vast quantity of small gold boxes from Val Royeaux, neatly stacked, each containing a little wooden stick. It took longer than he’d ever admit for him to realize that they were eyeliner pencils.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone confidently say what color Cassandra’s eyes are? I’ve stared and stared but finally I just had to hedge it. :P


	10. To All Swift Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra is delighted to receive a very expensive gift, kills a dragon with it; Cullen teaches Sera a trick, engages in a power struggle.

“To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;  

  Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.

      But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,        

    The long savannahs of the blue;     

        Or whether, Thunder-driven,     

    They clanged his chariot ’thwart a heaven,

Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:—          

  Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.”

_–_ Francis Thompson, _“The Hound of Heaven”_

 

_Dear Cullen,_ Cassandra wrote.

Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t thought of another word. She stared off angrily into the campfire, aware that she was crushing her pen between her fingers.

“Having trouble there, Seeker?”

Hearing Varric’s gravelly chuckle, she covered her letter hurriedly with her hand.

“I could probably spare you some help,” he said, sitting down beside her. “Seeing as you’ve been so appreciative of my writing in the past.”

Maker, she was never going to hear the end of this. “Thank you, Varric, but no,” she said curtly. When he’d gone away – strangely, looking a little hurt, and stranger still, she knew she’d apologize to him later – she continued:

_The Inquisition is working to build our presence in the Emerald Graves. Varric is getting on my nerves, as usual._

She resisted the urge to scratch the lines out, insipid as they were. She didn’t actually intend on sending the letter, after all. The others wrote back to Skyhold sometimes – Iron Bull, Solas, and of course, the Inquisitor – but every piece of mail took effort to deliver, and she didn’t want to create more work for someone else, not without a good reason. Besides, Leliana and Josephine were sure to read every letter, and they knew enough about her and Cullen as it was.

_I miss you. I love you._

Even worse, she thought dismissively. Even though it was entirely true.

* * *

 

On his own, Cullen continued to battle the lyrium withdrawal. Some days, the physical symptoms were the worse – nausea, migraines, deep fatigue. Other days, he felt helplessly tossed about by his emotions – manic highs, abject lows, and everything in between.

During one episode, afraid to be by himself, he went to see Mother Giselle. For several hours, he opened up to her about his struggles, without mentioning the lyrium or Cassandra’s name specifically. It must have been a rambling and confusing account, but she did not press him for more details. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on,” he said. “My faith is so feeble.”

“It is not great faith you need, just faith in something greater,” Mother Giselle told him. “Faith is like a window. It matters not whether the window is large or small; what matters is that you look through it to see the Maker. You need but remember that, and humbly persist in seeking.”

“Thank you, Mother Giselle,” he murmured.

“Put self-pity aside, child,” she counseled. “And do not grow weary of doing good.”

* * *

 

Work helped. Struck by how thoroughly Cassandra kept up with what the other advisers were doing, he began stopping by to talk with them more often.

From Josephine: The Thibaults were gaining strength in Orlais. Unrest still brewed in Serault. Their scholars’ inquiries into the Well of Sorrows in Minrathous’s archives had been very promising so far.

From Leliana: Red lyrium smugglers had been apprehended at Lake Celestine. Venatori spies were moving in Val Chevin. No news from the Hero of Ferelden, nor did she expect any in the foreseeable future.

Things had improved among them, he decided. Josephine was always pleased to have another listening ear. Leliana was more reserved, but she didn’t seem to despise him anymore, at least, and if he ever made a nuisance of himself, he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to let him know.

Emboldened, one afternoon when they were in the War Room, he surprised them with two boxes chocolate-centered caramels his sisters had sent him from Ferelden. “I did think there was one thing I hadn’t properly apologized for,” he said, with what he hoped was a winsome smile. “Interrupting an important meeting, once upon a midnight.”

It worked. Perhaps too well. “Hmph,” Josephine said, after exchanging a look with Leliana. “Quite right. But seeing as that was virtually an unpardonable offense, I suppose it would only be fair for you to continue offering such apologies, now and then.”

“It brings me happiness to know you will find a good use for them,” he said, testing his luck. “Albeit a completely secret one.”

And if he wasn’t mistaken, that earned him a twinkle of approval in Leliana’s eyes.

* * *

 

Company helped, too. Though in Cassandra’s absence, he realized guiltily, there were few others at Skyhold with whom he was particularly close.

So he set up times to play chess with Dorian and Blackwall. He sparred with Iron Bull, and had a few drinks with Varric. He even sat on the roof with Sera and threw cookies at Vivienne and Solas, ducking as they looked around for the culprits. “Maybe you’re not so bad,” Sera said, when they’d shimmied down a drainpipe and landed in the garden, crushing a patch of the Inquisitor’s lovingly tended Crystal Grace. “Decent shot, at least. Are you good at anything else?”

Was he? He looked around and saw a cherry tree. “I can knot a cherry stem in my mouth,” he said lamely.

“Eeewww! You can keep that to yourself. Whatever that means.”

“It means what it says, Sera. You’ve never heard of it?”

When she shook her head, he grabbed a handful of cherries and showed her. Soon he found himself giving demonstrations to a small crowd, including most of the inner circle. Sera cackled, watching them contort their faces and stick out their tongues. “I must master this,” Dorian said, making one undignified expression after another. “If only because it’s so fiendishly difficult.”

“Everyone in Honnleath learned it growing up,” Cullen said, to be modest.

Sera rolled her eyes. “Yeah, the rest of us had better things to do. Still. You’re okay, right.”

* * *

 

He remembered what he’d said to Cassandra – it was true that he was better off having something to do. Already he was assisting Cassandra with finding the remaining Seekers, since the Inquisitor had exposed Lord Seeker Lucius at Caer Oswin. Cullen, along with the Inquisitor and the other advisors, had unanimously urged Cassandra to rebuild her old Order. He had been glad to be there to comfort her, though the sight of her tears again broke his heart, and he was glad now to be aiding in her research, directing their troops where needed.

But even that wasn’t enough. He started looked for more to occupy himself with outside of his regular duties. Useful work, preferably. But it would be strange, even disconcerting, for the Commander of the Inquisition to be seen performing tasks that would have been allocated to others.

Finally he hit upon the idea to try the stables. He knew the horse master, Herbert, from their discussions of mounts for the soldiers. Herbert was a widower from Honnleath, and claimed to remember Cullen as a boy. In any case, he didn’t stand on ceremony. “There’s always stalls to be mucked out and hay to be stacked,” he said, and so Cullen carried out any tasks Herbert had for him. If the handler thought it odd, he didn’t comment. Perhaps he was used to oddness, Cullen thought, as he fed the Inquisitor’s nuggalope. It was very much like her – it brought out the oddness in others, being cheerfully aware of its own.

Herbert stepped out one afternoon to negotiate with merchants over a new shipment of horses. He came back in looking unhappy.

“What is it? Not what you were expecting?” Cullen asked.

“They’re acceptable. Maker knows we can’t afford to be choosy.” He shook his head. “But there’s this one fool boy with them, dragging around a good horse in bad shape. A Nevarran Shrewdblood, if I’m not mistaken. He’s running it down to the ground.”

Cullen perked up. “A Nevarran horse, you said?”

“War horse. Powerful charger. Exceptional agility.” He grunted. “No one within a thousand miles is going to be able to take it off his hands. I hate to see a jewel like that go by, but we haven’t got the coin.”

“I might be interested,” Cullen said casually. “If it would be all right to stable the horse here.”

Herbert gave him a suspicious look. “We have the space, but a horse like that needs more than the usual rations. You’d need to spring for that too.”

“But it’s a good horse?” Herbert nodded, and Cullen said, “Then I’d like to consider it.”

Herbert brightened. “It’s turning out to be a good day after all. Wait just a moment, then.”

After longer than he anticipated, Herbert returned, huffing with satisfaction. “I got her down to a fair price for you,” he said.

He named the figure, and Cullen almost choked.

“You must be joking,” Cullen said, when he found his voice again.

Herbert looked deeply offended. “A Nevarran Shrewdblood is a queen among horses. They don’t come cheap.” He cracked his knuckles. “What do you say? Still in?”

_I’ve spent all my money on horses and women,_ Cullen thought ruefully. “Still in, Herbert.”

* * *

 

Herbert had been right. Even ungroomed and malnourished, the horse was still something extraordinary. Her coat was white and her mane and tail, though dusty and knotted, were a pure obsidian black. After a few days under Herbert’s care, she practically glowed.

It was too bad that she was the meanest horse Cullen had ever encountered. He’d never had trouble around horses before, but this one simply refused to warm up to him. She dug in her heels when he tried to lead her outside, sneered at him when he attempted to tack her up, and crunched the ripe apples he gave her with a grudging look.

Even something as simple as moving her so that he could sweep out her stall could turn into a contest of wills. “Come on, princess,” he muttered, the word slipping out of his mouth to his surprise. His father had used to call his sisters that, whenever they were being particularly vexing.

Cassandra would really hate having a horse named Princess, he thought, unable to suppress a grin. No matter. She could name it what she liked; until then, Princess would be what he called it.

“Yes, Princess, that’s you,” he said. He’d hoped to get some kind of a rise out of her – some kind of outraged whinny, perhaps – but she gave him only a silent look of disdain.

Had he really expected to have a conversation with a horse? This was low, even for him. “Ingrate,” he added. If she was going to be his nemesis, he at least got to insult her.

* * *

 

A week later, Cullen couldn’t believe he was still engaged in a power struggle with a horse. She’d keep fidgeting as he attempted saddle her, shooting him haughty looks. Finally he’d given up, and still that wasn’t enough for her – on his way out, she kicked him in the shins.

“She doesn’t like people,” he said to Herbert, who’d been enjoying the show.

Herbert snorted. “Certainly doesn’t like you.” He stepped around Cullen and easily unsaddled the horse, leading her back to her stall. “There’s no hiding from horses,” he said fondly. “You have to be completely yourself around them. Bring anyone near a horse and you’ll see if they’re comfortable with themselves or not.”

Princess threw Cullen a look of smug contempt as she clip-clopped out.

* * *

 

It was enough to make him consider not gifting the horse to Cassandra after all. Princess was so disagreeable that he couldn’t imagine them getting along.

On the other hand, it was stupid to keep a horse cooped up that no one besides he and Herbert knew about. At the very least, Cassandra might appreciate seeing that he’d had done something to keep himself busy.

When she’d returned from the Emerald Graves and had a day to settle back in, he asked her if she’d mind taking a look at some of the Inquisition’s new acquisitions. She made a disgusted noise as he led her into the stables. “Not more demented animals. If the Inquisitor has corralled some kind of…” Her expression changed. “Oh!”

Her reaction caught him off guard. To Cullen, it was just a horse – a horse that had been a pain in his side for two weeks now – but Cassandra was staring it as if were an angel of light. _That will change when she gets to know its personality,_ he thought with an inward sigh.

To Cullen’s surprise, the horse took one look at Cassandra and whinnied prettily. She seemed to stand taller, flicking her long black mane and raising one hoof slightly. Cassandra walked around it, marveling at it from every angle. “You are beautiful,” she breathed.

The horse preened.

Turning to Cullen, Cassandra said eagerly, “This breed is rare. Only certain Nevarran handlers have them. How did the Inquisition… May I…?”

Barely taking note of his answer – how could it be anything but yes? – Cassandra saddled up Princess, whom Cullen hadn’t even attempted to get ready for riding. He couldn’t believe how easily Cassandra managed it now. She grasped the reins, said something in Nevarran, and the horse took off majestically. Always a graceful rider, Cassandra seemed to take to the horse by instinct. Her form had never been better, Cullen thought admiringly, as they flowed as one creature into the distance.

He heard a low whistle. It was Herbert, watching their progress. He caught Cullen’s eyes and gave him a sly wink. “I should tell the lads. That’ll inspire them to do their chores.”

Cullen shrugged, unable to keep a grin off his face.

The handler slipped out discreetly when Cassandra returned, leaving the two of them together. Dismounting, she gushed, “She’s perfect. Truly a mount fit for the Inquisitor. I will be glad to see her replace that preposterous nuggalope.”

“Actually, I bought the horse for you,” he said. “Would you like her?”

The look that crossed her face was priceless. “Maker, yes!” she exclaimed, eyes shining. “I don’t know how to thank you, Cullen. She must have cost a fortune.”

“Not a fortune,” he said. “I didn’t have very much money.”

Immediately he wished he hadn’t said that. Her eyes widened. “Is that a request for a pay raise, Commander?

He shook his head, face growing hot.

She raised an eyebrow. “You had a good salary at Kirkwall, and no major expenses or debts. Of course, I have not been monitoring your finances since you joined the Inquisition, but…”

Suddenly she narrowed her eyes.

“We’ll discuss this later,” she said, mounting the horse again in one smooth motion. They galloped off and Cullen watched, beaming. Herbert chuckled as he stacked the hay.

* * *

 

“I’m still amazed you gave the Inquisition so much of your money,” she said later, as they made out in the back of the stables, not for the first time.

“At the time, I didn’t think I would need it for anyone else,” he said, smiling.

“An oversight on your part. Suppose only your riches could make me happy. What if I wanted twelve Nevarran horses?”

“Then you would have to find me eleven more positions in the Inquisition.”

“I’m afraid, Commander, that the Inquisition is not quite so in need of your services.” Leaning closer, she whispered, “But I can think of at least eleven more positions I’d like to see you in.”

Maker preserve him. “You have a dirty mind, Cassandra,” he said, kissing her passionately.

“Show me what you think of it,” she replied, kissing him back.

* * *

 

Later, when Cassandra had left (after feeding the horse three apples, which it accepted joyfully), he found himself still talking to her horse. A silly habit, but one he could probably live with. “I’m all right, aren’t I?” he said, patting the horse’s side. He was not unaware of how pathetic he sounded. “See, I was taking good care of you. I was getting you in shape for the best woman in Thedas. Can’t we be friends now?”

The horse made a disgusted noise.

* * *

 

The next week, Cullen was proud to see Cassandra ride out with the Inquisitor’s party on the horse, which she’d named Fleet. He missed her terribly, but he was glad to think that she and Fleet might take care of each other while she was away. For his part, he kept up his duties, feeling the lyrium addiction hold less and less sway over him. He counted off the days until it would be a month without a trace of lyrium crossing his lips.

Then the day came, and there was no one to celebrate with him. He’d thought Cassandra would be back by now. He looked up from his desk at lunchtime to see Josephine enter.

“A letter came from Cassandra,” she said, holding out an envelope. “It seemed important.”

He took it from her, resisting the urge to tear it open right away. “Do you know when they’ll return?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Another week, perhaps. Longer if they meet with resistance. Or if things go well.”

She gave him a look of sympathy.

“You are used to being the soldier abroad,” she said. “It must be difficult to be the one who waits at home instead.”

“As the Maker wills it, I hope I choose to bear it more graciously,” he replied, but he started tearing open the letter even before Josephine was out the door in a manner that was far from gracious. It was short, but it made him laugh and ache for Cassandra like never before.

_Dear Cullen,_

_The Inquisition advances. We have made progress closing rifts and restoring order in Emprise du Lion. Fleet and I are well. We slayed a high dragon yesterday in Etienne’s Ring. I am anxious to return to you and it was in my way._

_Yours with all my love,_

_Cassandra_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wouldn’t it be funny if there were more adviser-to-adviser War Table operations? “Apologize to Leliana and Josephine…” Skyhold drama is so much more diverting than stopping Corypheus. :P
> 
> Mother Giselle’s counsel borrows heavily from N.T. Wright’s writings on Luke 17:1-10 in _Luke for Everyone._
> 
> Just hours after I realized that Seekers are immune to red lyrium, I found this compilation of unused lines (YouTube: DA: Inquisition. Party comments [Cassandra]) that includes “I never said I was frightened of horses. They just have such large teeth.” I don’t buy that a Pentaghast would be afraid of horses, but still, somehow I managed to get everything wrong in this story…


	11. Rise, Clasp My Hand, and Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good news; the Inquisition reacts variously; Cassandra and Cullen come together at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead. Rise and come indeed!

“All which thy child’s mistake          

Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:               

  Rise, clasp My hand, and come!”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

In the end, Cassandra had allowed herself to send him that one letter via messenger. _I owed him special thanks. And he has surely covered hundreds of messengers,_ she thought, remembering the revelation that he had been their unnamed supporter had been him all along. Nothing else could have made him even more attractive.

_No, I can think of other things… I can hardly think of anything else._

_Even so…_

After the letter was sent, the Inquisitor’s party pressed on through the wilderness of Emprise du Lion, and Cassandra knew she wouldn’t receive a reply from Cullen. A hard knot of worry twisted up in her stomach anyway. Suppose he suffered a relapse while she was away, suppose he injured himself, suppose, suppose…

Her fears only increased as they rode up to Skyhold. The ancient fortress seemed stoic, impassive. The whole time, this was where he had been. The day that marked a month of safety had come and gone. Provided he had stayed the course, of course, could the world remain so unchanged?

Uncharacteristically, she slowed her pace and hung back, afraid. She heard cheers when the Inquisitor passed through the gates, but Cullen’s voice wasn’t among them. Her heart sank. Then her horse carried her forward and she saw him, standing at the back. He looked thin and anxious.

But his eyes met hers and a broad smile broke out across his face. He nodded.

* * *

 

The Inquisitor had seen a few things in her time, but perhaps none so astonishing as the sight of Cassandra leaping off a moving horse to run to their Commander, kissing him passionately in front of the entire welcome reception.

“Well, batter my heart, that took them long enough,” the Inquisitor remarked cheerfully. “I was beginning to think they’d need my help!”

“I assure you the timing was perfect,” Leliana said fondly.

“I do, however, share your sympathies, Inquisitor,” Josephine added. “It is a rare blessing for any matter in the Inquisition to take care of itself.”

Vivienne dismounted beside the others. “It seems we’ve made quite an entrance,” she said. “Perhaps this is how the Inquisition should announce all of our arrivals from now on.”

“Yeah, why bother striking fear into the hearts of our enemies when we can just make them all pukey instead?” Sera said, making a face.

“I’m with you, Imperial Enchanter,” Blackwall said. “It’s good to see a different side of us, for a change.”

“Are you all right, Varric?” Dorian asked slyly. “You look rather like a proud father. It’s quite disconcerting.”

Varric blinked rapidly. “You’ll just have to be disconcerted, then. I know a good romance when I see one.” He pulled himself together. “ _Love and Lyrium._ Think it’d sell?”

“Damn, that is hot,” Iron Bull said enthusiastically. “I’m glad they don’t mind onlookers.”

“So many feelings!” Cole said. “How can anyone live with so many feelings!”

“That is the sense inititially, yes,” Solas replied. “But then you wonder how you ever lived without them.”

“Come along, let’s let them have a moment,” the Inquisitor said, as she dismounted her nuggalope, patting its flank.

“A word, Inquisitor, if I may,” Josephine said quickly, as the group began to disperse. With Leliana, they headed off towards the stables, speaking rapidly about what could have been grave Inquisition business, if not for the wide smiles on their faces.

* * *

 

There were briefings to complete, horses to stable, ravens to send, and a multitude of winks and nudges to bear from everyone he passed, but Cullen hardly noticed any of it. He barely seemed to breathe again until evening, when the sun hung low and gentle over the battlements, and Cassandra was there beside him, wondrously illuminated. They watched people pass through the courtyard, simply enjoying being out in the open together. After a while, by unspoken agreement, they went into Cullen’s quarters and shut the door.

Lingering for a moment by the entrance, Cassandra asked, “How did the Inquisitor react to you telling her that you are no longer in need of lyrium?”

“She was surprised, but more supportive than I thought she’d be. She said she wished I’d told her what I was going through, though she understood why I kept the matter private.”

“How about Leliana and Josephine?”

“They seemed _very_ surprised,” Cullen said dryly. “Actually, I think Josephine was, genuinely. Leliana…”

He stopped short, distracted by Cassandra casually bending over to unlace her boots. Maker, she had to know how inviting she made even the simplest gesture look. “Leliana what?” she said, as though she didn’t.

“Leliana…” Watching her step out of her boots, he found he couldn’t even finish his sentence. “Never mind. It doesn’t really matter.”

“What matters is that you’re free now,” she said, smiling.

“Free to be yours,” he said, smiling back at her. “Wait.”

She’d moved to embrace him, but stopped. “Is something wrong?”

“There’s something I have to do first.” Her eyes went wide as he got down on one knee before her. “If I’m asking to be wholly yours, I must ask you to be wholly mine. Cassandra, will you marry me?”

To his surprise, Cassandra made an exceedingly disgusted noise and smacked him on the shoulder.

“Cullen, you are insufferable! And I know for a fact that Leliana is busy all day with a visit from her Antivan agents! I suppose if we can find her later tonight, and if she can spare the time to perform the ceremony…”

He laughed; he couldn’t help himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean _before_ … I couldn’t possibly make you wait any longer. All I need is your answer. Cassandra – Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast,” he added with a grin, as she glared at him. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said at once, “yes, Cullen, yes.”

Then she was on him again, urgently, passionately, and Maker, her kisses had never been sweeter. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the ladder in one corner of his room. He had to put her down, then, feeling sheepish, but a low chuckle told him he appreciated his ardor. She grasped hold of the ladder, but turned to give him a coy look. “Some other time I would like to make a mess of your desk again,” she said. “Maybe even a worse one this time. An utter catastrophe. After last time, I mean, you must have considered…”

He groaned. “I couldn’t begin to tell you the things I’ve considered, Cassandra,” he said, and evidently pleased, she paused to deliver a quick, teasing kiss on the lips before she scrambled up the ladder. He kicked off his boots and followed after, congratulating himself on letting her go first, having decided that his view was undoubtedly the better one.

When he reached the top, she was taking off her gloves, laying them on his bedside table. Even was enough to make him go weak. He stripped off his own gauntlets and grasped her hands, reveling in their calloused strength as he bent to kiss her again. Blindly, he fumbled with her clothing. There seemed to be no end to the buckles and straps, and the way she kept sighing and squirming at his touch didn’t help. He let out a growl of frustration, even as he managed to undo her breastplate, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor.

He was stunned to feel her lift his own armor off him easily a moment later. “How did you…?”

“I have been observing you closely for some time,” she said, with just a touch of smugness. “And practicing this quite often, in my mind.”

Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, and he felt a rush of pride when she murmured approvingly at what she found there. Her fingertips sought out the hard lines of his chest, lingering over any scars could find before dipping lower to circle his navel. He let out a groan when she ran her fingers across the skin just above his waistband.

Before she could get any further, he quickly started unbuttoning her shirt, trailing kisses down her chest and stomach as he exposed her skin inch by tantalizing inch. Reaching behind her back, he made short work of the band that bound her breasts. She laughed a little when he drew in a shaky breath, but her laughter quickly turned to moans when he touched her with all the urgency that was building up inside him. Moving up to her shoulders and clavicles, he paused to check if there was a scar where he’d injured her in his delirium, but he found none. “It’s all right, Cullen,” she said, sensing his worry. “I want you to mark me. Claim me as yours.”

Her words sent another surge of arousal shooting through him, mingled with gratitude. She was so much more than he dreamed of. In a fleeting moment of conscious thought, he decided to start on her other shoulder, just to be safe. Choosing his target, he bit and sucked at the spot, gradually increasing the pressure when she moaned his name, until his fear was forgotten. He repeated the sequence, his mouth roughly teasing her sensitive skin, but always finishing with a gentle kiss. For all that he was trying to make this last, he didn’t know how much longer he could bear being this aroused by her, not when he was already so close losing himself in her desire.

But she was every bit as eager as he was. A moment later, she tugged on his shirt, forcing him to break their contact while she attempted to lift it over his arms. He struggled playfully against her for a moment, and she grunted, redoubling her efforts until he stood bare-chested before her, already panting from their brief tussle. He was repaid for his impudence when her hands strayed suddenly to brush the front of his pants. He let out a loud groan to feel her there, for the barest instant, and then she was gone again, dropping to her knees as she pulled his pants down. Still kneeling in front of him, she raised her eyes and gave him an innocent look.

He almost finished right then. If she touched him now, he would. He managed to shake his head, and she understood his meaning. He pulled her to her feet, only to tip her backwards onto the bed, groaning as his body made contact with hers. She ran her hands down his back, her touch burning all the more for its lightness.

He wanted her to keep going, but he also wanted more. With as much reluctance as anticipation, he gave her an imploring look. She nodded, biting her lip, and his hands brushed hers. She yielded to him, readily, and both of them shuddered and gasped. After he’d paused for an agonizing moment, he started to move, dipping into her and pulling back again with long, languorous strokes. The room filled with her whimpers and moans; distantly he was aware of echoing them. Her cheeks were deliciously flushed, her lips parted, eyes closed, head thrown back to lengthen the graceful curve of her neck, every strong line of her surrendering to him. He moved faster, urging them both on. “Cassandra,” he gasped. “I need you. I need you so much, Cassandra. Let me be yours.”

She responded immediately, her voice frayed with longing. “Yes, Cullen, please, yes. Always, yes...”

She broke off with a wordless cry, arching her back sharply as she hit the apex of her pleasure. Her hands slipped from his shoulders, and suddenly he was there with her, shuddering and jerking uncontrollably, holding her tight. He felt more than he ever thought he could feel when he was with her, especially when she was like this, overcome by all that they had together. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to love her more than he did in that moment, but he knew that somehow he would; she would bring him there.

At last their trembling subsided, and he lay next to her, propping his head up one arm to better take her in. She saw where his eyes went and gave him a half smile. Touching the side of his face, she murmured, “I did not get a chance to finish.”

Cullen paled. “Cassandra – ”

“I am yours as well, Cullen. Completely.” Unexpectedly, she leaned forward and gently nibbled his lower lip. “I hope that much was clear.”

“What?” she asked, seeing his face. “What did you think I meant?” Indignation crossed her features. “Cullen! You can’t have thought – after everything you did – must I prove it to you again?”

He laughed with relief. “I believed you the first time,” he said. “I love you, Cassandra. And I’m sorry your promised husband is so dense.”

“I will have no husband,” she said, and Cullen gaped – “save for the one I already have now.”

He exhaled weakly. “Maker, Cassandra, you have to stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what? This?”

He didn’t even see her hand move, but in the next instant he gasped at the pleasure wracking his whole body. “No,” he managed.

“How confusing you are,” she said conversationally, reaching for him again. This time he was ready. He shifted his weight suddenly so he ended on top of her. But he didn’t expect her to do the same in an instant later, to find himself looking up into her eyes.

“I love you, Cullen. You,” she whispered. “Give me something to prove to you again.”


	12. To Love Ignoble Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra discusses the next Divine, discloses Leliana’s biggest secret; Leliana behaves unusually; Josephine issues a death threat; Cullen makes an honest woman out of Cassandra.

“Alack, thou knowest not      

How little worthy of any love thou art!         

Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,    

  Save Me, save only Me?

 

Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.”

_–Francis Thompson, “The Hound of Heaven”_

 

The sky was just beginning to take on the darkest shade of blue when Cassandra awoke to feel Cullen stirring beside her. Thinking he was in the grip of another nightmare, she turned to soothe him. But he’d only moved to sit up in bed to look at her. With one hand, he thoughtfully traced the curve of her back.

“Cullen,” she said. “It’s not even dawn.”

“What can I say?” he asked, with a smile that made her melt. “Maker, it’s my wedding day. I’m in no mood to be patient.”

“Leliana doesn’t like to be disturbed before nine o’clock unless it’s urgent business.”

“This isn’t urgent business?”

She just shook her head and yawned, in spite of herself. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“Sorry for what?” she asked. “For being so handsome and irresistible?”

He laughed, then, and she snuggled closer to him, humming with contentment. “I suppose I should be grateful for all that,” he said. “That, and the fact that you make me the happiest man alive.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad to have done one good thing in my life.”

Cullen murmured in protest, but she laid a finger on his lips. Climbing onto his lap, she whispered, “Do not contest me on this. Not right now. Just let me express my gratitude. My love. My own.”

* * *

 

At a few minutes to nine, Cassandra looked out her window and frowned. “Don’t look now, but Leliana is standing just outside.”

“What, has she come to complain about the noise? Ow!” That earned him a smack on the shoulder, but he grinned at the color surging into her cheeks.

“You are as much to blame for that as I am. More, I think. On every count.”

At the look she gave him then, he felt himself blushing hotly. Suddenly it seemed like a good idea to change the subject. “Is she talking to someone?”

“No. It is odd, but at least it is convenient for us.”

“And not so bad for her. She hardly goes outside anymore.”

Cassandra snorted. “She burns quite easily in the sun. An irony, for someone so keen on the Sunburst Throne.”

Cullen tensed. They hadn’t much discussed the future. Until recently, it had seemed rash to even presume they might have one. But he had to ask. “Is it true that she’s a candidate?” He swallowed. “Along with you?”

She held his gaze. “We are, yes. But nothing will be decided for some time.”

“Is it what you want?” he asked gently.

“Is it what the Maker wants?” she replied. “I do not know. Not at this moment. Ultimately His will is what matters, not my own.

“But I have been taught not to fear, lest, having Him, I must have naught beside. I have you now. The desire of my heart. And you know that marriage is sometimes discouraged, but not prohibited for any of us.” Her eyes twinkled. “Or Leliana would not have been eligible.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re serious. Who is it?”

“You have to promise not tell anyone.” He promised. “The Hero of Ferelden. The Warden from the Fifth Blight. He has stayed hidden for reasons for his own. I only tell you so you may have some context for what Leliana has put you through. She has only tried to look out for me, in her own way.

“No, I do not believe either of us will be made the next Divine,” she went on. “I cannot take anyone seriously who would consider the Divine’s Left and Right Hands immediately after her term. The majority of voting members have more sense, and they will remember what happened in the case of Divine Beatrix. Besides, we have been mixed up with the Inquisition for some time now. We hold too many secrets. We have shed a great deal of blood. But perhaps in ten years, if the two of us are contenders again…”

She clasped his hand. “For now, I have work to do with the Inquisition, and perhaps later the Seekers. More importantly, my place is with you.”

“And mine is with you,” he said warmly. “Now and always.”

* * *

 

Hand in hand, they stepped out into the courtyard, blinking in the sun. Leliana whirled around. “There you are,” she said stiffly. “You are needed now. Come quickly.”

She turned sharply on her heel and strode off. Exchanging a look, Cassandra and Cullen hurried after her. She led them up the steps to the main hall, paused, and then threw the doors open wide.

Cassandra could hardly recognize the room. The Inquisitor’s throne was gone, and above the dais hung simple colored banners – red and gold for Ferelden, for Nevarra, scarlet and dark blue. Chairs had been set up facing the stained glass windows, leaving the center aisle clear. Everyone from the inner circle was present, along with many more they knew from Skyhold, and some even from their time before. Beside her, Cullen murmured in surprise.

“Leliana!” Cassandra managed. “What if we had no such plans?”

“Then we would have made a very pointed suggestion,” the Inquisitor said, appearing beside them. She beamed. “You’re with me, Cullen. I have some things for you, or Josephine will never let me hear the end of it.”

She hurried off with him, while Cassandra followed Leliana with growing trepidation. Don’t worry,” Leliana called over her shoulder. “We didn’t have time to get you a dress.”

In a small room off the main hall, Josephine was waiting, holding out a simple bouquet of flowers tied with a satin ribbon. “Leliana wanted to weave you an Orlesian flower crown, but I persuaded her that you would be unhappy enough just carrying them.”

Cassandra scowled. “I can’t believe you went to all this trouble.”

Leliana giggled. “I only wish we had gone to more!”

“Yes, and – ” Josephine sighed dreamily. “It was so wonderful to prepare for a small wedding in between preparing for the end of the world!”

“Before you say anything else, I assure you, we are safe for today,” Leliana added.

“If Corypheus appears, I will kill him myself!” Josephine squeaked.

Cassandra harrumphed. “Yes. He opens a breach in the sky, but heaven help him if he interrupts a party.”

Not appearing to hear, Josephine frowned. “I hope the Inquisitor has not forgotten Cullen’s corsage. I reminded her twice already but – oh, I had better see to it myself.” She scurried off.

Leliana faced her, smiling. “I’m afraid the honeymoon will have to wait. But the Inquisition can certainly function without the two of you until tomorrow.

“We had to do this, you know,” she continued. “It’s only right for you to declare your vows publicly. Besides, there’s nothing better for morale. Oh, I’m so excited! The first Inquisition wedding!”

“How delightful,” Cassandra said dryly. “Should I start writing books and composing songs?”

“ _You_ shouldn’t _,_ ” Leliana said. “But I have.”

“You have not!”

“Who could resist? It’s a marvelous tale. The Seeker and the Commander, their blessed union.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “I can hardly wait.”

“Of course you can’t. You haven’t.”

Cassandra blushed. “Leliana!”

Leliana laughed delightedly. “I knew it! Never let it be said that the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing. You’re just lucky I’m here to help him make an honest woman out of you.”

As she had done for her in turn, Cassandra thought. Perhaps that was what Leliana was about to say when Josephine bustled back in. With a glance at the other woman, Leliana said, “Perhaps you and Cullen have chosen the most excellent way, after all. Together, I mean.”

Cassandra hugged them. “We are all together, here. Thank you. You have been true friends.”

* * *

 

“We gather today in the Maker’s sight,” Leliana began, speaking to the whole crowd present.

Behind them, their audience was uncharacteristically well-behaved. Cassandra and Cullen, who stood facing Leliana on the dais, exchanged a quick glance. Cassandra had imagined she’d be more nervous, but in fact she felt as calm as he looked. _It is rightful and right,_ she thought. _This peace._

“He who created all things visible and invisible, Light of Lights, Word of Words, giver and source of all things good, all hope, all peace; all justice, all mercy; all life, and all love. We join our hearts in joyful celebration of the wedding of Cassandra Pentaghast and Cullen Rutherford.”

Someone – probably Iron Bull – let out a lusty cheer. Even Leliana cracked a smile.

“It is written,” she continued, “As a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will the Maker rejoice over you.” She turned to Cassandra and Cullen. “Therefore, in the sanctity of marriage, be a light and an example to all. Love each other as the Maker first loved you. Honor each other as the Maker first honored us. Give yourselves fully to each other as the Maker first gave.”

She cleared her throat, and Cassandra felt her heart beat faster.

“Do you, Cassandra Pentaghast, take Cullen Rutherford to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and adore him all the days of your life, to seek the very best for him in all circumstances, and to serve him with all your heart?”

“I do,” she said.

“And do you, Cullen Rutherford, take Cassandra Pentaghast to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and adore her all the days of your life, to seek the very best for her in all circumstances, and to serve her with all your heart?”

“I do,” he said.

Leliana smiled. “Those whom the Maker has joined together, let no one put asunder. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Cullen caught Cassandra up in his arms and kissed her, and she held their kiss fiercely for a long time. Over the roar of the crowd, she heard Leliana conclude to herself, scoldingly, “You may _now_ kiss the bride. Can’t they do one thing properly?”

* * *

 

In the evening, Cullen and Cassandra went for a walk through the grounds, the stars a bright promise over their heads. Cullen, who knew little of plans of his plans for the future, found himself talking to Cassandra about his past. 

“I went to the Templars as a young boy. I was never the most devout, even when I knew in my heart that no path could be more right for me. Still I hesitated at each crucial juncture. The night before I left Honnleath, then before I took my vows, then before I was posted to Ostagar, then Kirkwall… I couldn’t sleep. Sore adread I must have naught beside.

“I suppose even that dread came from the Maker,” he said suddenly. “It never left me until I met you. The only time I knew I wouldn’t hesitate was when you came to recruit me at Kirkwall.”

She frowned. “But you took a day to give me your answer, as we agreed upon. Besides, I would not have liked to see you rush into that decision.”

He chuckled. “I was dying to leave Kirkwall. I’d been praying for just such an opportunity. I’ll always remember seeing you that first time you came into my office. You looked so perfectly sure of what you were doing. You were…

“A mess from two weeks of riding, no doubt.”

“On the contrary. I was going to say that you were even more beautiful than I’d heard you were.” He marveled at the color that rose to her cheeks. “The Hero of Orlais. The Right Hand of the Divine. Cassandra Pentaghast. The only thing I could think of as I waited to give you my answer was the consideration that I’d go mad, being so close to you, longing for you, without a hope that you would notice me.”

“You are so sure of that?” she asked, though her eyes glowed. “I am told I have never made a good first impression in my life.”

He spread his hands out in front of him. “Question me all you like, Seeker. I’m yours forever.”

She smiled, but her face grew serious again in thought. “For me, it was the night when Haven was destroyed,” she said. “I do not mean to diminish that tragedy. So many lives were lost. Terrible things are intended for evil. Sometimes the Maker uses them for good. I can’t explain it. Still we survived.

“Of course, I knew of your character before I went to recruit you at Kirkwall – and once I saw you it did not escape my attention that you were very easy on the eye,” she added, with a teasing smile. “Afterwards, when you told me how you wanted to break free of the lyrium, my respect for you only grew. I saw you in need of support, and space to be the leader you could be besides. I told myself that I was building you up. It was only after Haven fell that I realized you did the same for me.” She smiled wryly. “Not quite as romantic as your story, I’m afraid.”

“Even a true romantic can have practical concerns.” After a strong nudge from Varric, he’d finally flipped open _Swords and Shields_ , nearly dropping it when he reached the end of the first chapter. Cassandra had blushed, embarrassed, when he’d told her he’d read it at last. “Life isn’t the way it’s told in books,” he said, echoing the words she’d said to him then.

“No,” she whispered now, with an alluring look that took his breath away. “Sometimes it is very, very much better.”

In her wildest fantasies and sweetest dreams, she had never imagined that she could take him to such heights, and that he would take her with him. She pulled him down beside her in the soft grass, and felt his joy in returning her touch. As they learned each other, all fear and hesitation wore away. The more they grew in security together, the more they grew in yearning. She found more to love about him each day; he sought more of her to cherish constantly. And as surely as they belonged to the Maker, so they belonged also to each other for their entire lives.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for following this whole story! This is the longest thing I’ve ever completed, and I had so much fun writing it. 
> 
> In my playthrough, both Cassandra and Leliana stayed single, and I loved that. _For the Inquisition!_ But I couldn’t resist the plot twist of Leliana being secretly and broodingly married to the Warden when the idea snuck up on me after I’d just about finished writing this. I’m interested in the paradox of being wholly committed to one thing in order to be wholly committed to another, and I am also a total romantic, and that side of me won here. (:
> 
> Cassandra borrows from Psalm 37:4 – “Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.” “The most excellent way” is from the description of love in 1 Corinthians 13. The wedding ceremony is drawn from the Nicene Creed, Isaiah 62:5, and 1 John 4:19. 
> 
> As ever, I’d love to hear what you thought. And thank you, thank you again for being here!


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